


Selling a Fake

by argylemikewheeler



Category: The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, But not explicit and more so focused on the overall emotions of it, Emotional Baggage, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Sex, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2020-10-06 14:34:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 35,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20508608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argylemikewheeler/pseuds/argylemikewheeler
Summary: Theo didn’t fly home right away; he stayed in Antwerp and together, he and Boris flew back to New York. They start over, two troubled teenagers all over again. They’ve replaced scorching Vegas summers with chilling New York winters. It was never about the place anyway.They’re together-- they’re something-- but Theo still struggles to be open to strangers passing by.(PLUS an extended part two/epilogue to give us more comforting boyfriends and less internalized homophobia for Theo!)





	1. "So What?"

**i.**

Holding hands with Boris in public was still uncomfortable; still felt like an unnecessary announcement to the world about things that were grotesque and hidden for a reason. Theo used to think it was because time spent with Boris was time spent completely obliterated and sloppy. Admitting to strangers his associations with Boris felt like openly lifting a bump to his nose in public. Well, that’s what Theo thought it felt like, until he realized that _ maybe _ being with Boris openly was the only thing that felt so criminal in the first place.

That, of course, was what Thursday afternoon brunches were for: trying to make spending time together less criminal and more commonplace, as two lovers _ should _feel.

“It is your pick today, Potter. You have chosen, yes?” Boris asked, walking beside Theo. They were still in Theo’s neighborhood. Barely able to acknowledge the other existed just yet.

“I was thinking that place we had three weeks ago. I really just want an omelette I think.” Theo shrugged, stepping around the block.

Boris laughed and nudged his side, arm going around his shoulders before dropping to his waist. “So easy to please, Potter. Pick somewhere exciting! These Thursdays, they are fun, no? Meant to be extravagant! Daring!”

“I think I’ve had enough of all of that for a while.” Theo said, turning to look at Boris just _ barely _ over the top of his glasses. “They’re just supposed to be nice Thursday mornings. You know how being normal works, right, Boris?”

He scoffed. “Normal? When have we subscribe to normal?”

It was true; between the two of them, they’d done enough in their lives to be unable to step back into normal lives. At least, beyond normal on the surface. They could pretend for anyone who passed, but the truth between them was still that their childhoods had passed in a spotted haze and that their early twenties were nearly lost to a poor art deal. But they’d recovered. The painting, their lives, their money, their sanity.

Everyone was fine. Everything was back where it should have been.

“It’s a figure of speech.” Theo said, still letting himself be led by Boris down the sidewalk. “_ Normal _.”

“I think we are normal.” Boris said nodding firmly. “Yes. We are. Two men, on four legs, healthy-- making money fist over fist!”

“It’s _ hand _ over fist.”

“Don’t care! Fist, hand, leg, foot! We’re making it and we’re happy, yes! And now we’re on the way to eat. What could be better?”

“A mimosa, probably.” Theo muttered, casting a glance to the storefronts as they passed.

Shop owners with hoses, cleaning the sidewalk; mothers with their babies trying to get rays of morning sun; children on their way to school; all impossibly bland and predictable strangers that made Theo step farther away from Boris. His arm dropped with a _ slap _ against his leg. It fell as if Theo had snapped it, cutting off all feeling from his shoulder down.

“How about coffee instead?” Boris pointed with his other hand over to a coffee cart just across the street. He reached for his wallet just as Theo reached for his arm; the guilt had gotten him before the shame had. “What? No coffee?”

“Well, no. I’ll just get some there.” Theo said quietly. “But also, I mean--” He lifted Boris’s arm as it hung lifelessly in his grasp, trying to motion it back to where it had been. “Sorry.”

“What are you doing?” Boris still hadn’t given life back to his arm. He seemed to enjoy Theo’s wordless proposal of public affection, the bastard. “Do you need itch?”

“What? No! I--I’m trying to say you can-- you know what? Forget it.” Theo sighed, lowering Boris’s arm. He rolled his eyes and let himself smile as Boris burst out in a honking laugh. He grabbed Theo again, his time his hand sitting loosely on his hip. Comfortable and nonchalant.

“So serious, Potter.” He furrowed his eyebrows and mocked Theo’s usual look of concern and anxiety. “It is too early for people to care-- too early to drink too, so twice amount not caring. Not even looking at us, Potter. Don’t be so paranoid.”

Theo couldn’t help it. Sure, the sidewalk was sparsely populated and the noise level was at a low, easy minimum, but there was still something ringing inside Theo. An alarm bell he couldn’t find or still, the metal reverberating and shaking his bones.

“I’m serious, Potter. No one around.” He leaned forward, like he was going to kiss him.

“And _ I’m _ serious, Boris.” He didn’t push Boris away, but spoke firmly, hushing his voice. “These people live near me. I see them all the time. They used to know my parents… They know _ clients _.”

Boris nodded and leaned back, his hand still resting on Theo’s hip. His thumb moved over the roughness of his wool coat. “Okay. Okay.”

There was a moment, once the initial panic faded, that Theo wasn’t so afraid of his old and new neighbors seeing him with Boris. There was a level of sophistication to them: two grown and healthy (_ healthier _ , let’s say. Cutting down on the _ oceans _of alcohol they’d been drinking had helped their complexions and overall youthfulness) men walking in stride together; one poised and creased to a perfect angle, polished glasses, and a new haircut; the other refusing a trim but still sleek in his all black look, trouser to sweater, even his trench coat a fierce coal black, only the buttons glinting in the morning winter sun. They were two attractive young men that looked attractive together. They looked well put together and somewhat dignified.

_ So what _ , Theo wanted to posture. _ So what if I’m with him? _ Theo felt a sort of authority in suddenly demanding the old image of him be changed; from poor helpless orphan to a grown, fruitful entrepreneur. He wanted them to notice that something new in his step: certainty.

_ Yeah. So fucking what _.

**ii.**

The restaurant-- a little corner place mostly of windows with dusted periwinkle walls-- wasn’t crowded when they walked inside. A small bell on the door announced their entrance and all the waitstaff turned to acknowledge them.

“Pick your seat, we’ll be right with you, hun.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Theo started unbuttoning his coat as Boris walked ahead to pick the table. 

He picked one in the center, the surrounding tables empty. “Two coffees. Please.” He held up two fingers, anticipating the waitress’s question as he shimmied his coat off. “I don’t think they have mimosa here, Potter.”

“Hm. Shame.” He placed his coat and scarf carefully over the back of the chair. “Maybe coffee is better than champagne at eleven in the morning, huh?”

“Both do the trick, we both know this.”

“What trick is that?”

“Getting us out the door for the day. Just different moods.” Boris winked, folding his hands in front of him. “One cup of coffee, we were functional, maybe a smile if we were lucky. Champagne? Hangover _ gone _ and those boring teachers, a bit funner! All the shitheads in class easier to listen to. Like changing dials on radio-- _ music _!”

“_ Walden _ is so much better drunk.” Theo hummed, rubbing his one eye under his glasses. “Oh man, you remember _ Leaves of Grass _?”

Boris snorted a laugh. “No!”

“Barely!” Theo agreed, shaking his head.

Laughing at pain was easier when it was closed over and finished; the desert had given them such an excuse to seek out destruction. Nothing around them could grow, so why should they? There was no need to. As hard as leaving Vegas was back then, Theo could at least acknowledge that leaving kick-started his ability to change-- at first for the worst, and then somewhat back toward the baseline for normalcy.

“Here’s two black coffees-- and some creamers.” A new woman came up swiftly, nearly singing the order, and placed the mugs down steadily in front of them. Not a drop spilled before placing a handful of creamers between them. “Alright, gentleman. What can I get for you?”

“He orders for me.” Boris volunteered, placing his menu down.

“Oh, that’s sweet.” The waitress had an unplaceable twang to her voice. It made her endearment sound only slightly pitiful, like she didn’t know what to do with herself. “I wish my husband knew me well enough to do that.”

“Husband?” Theo choked on his sip of coffee he had yet to take.

“Friends for many years, him and I. Boyhood-- idiots, mostly. Mistakes made together are twice learned, you know.” Boris steam-rolled Theo’s panic, grinning brightly as he lifted his own coffee up. He gulped it quickly, giving Theo a chance to sputter out a response.

“He’s not my husband.” Theo said sharply. No, no _ way _ . Did people like Boris _ get _ married? Well, Theo supposed, people like him would marry people like Theo-- _ for example _. Or, more shortly, people like them married those like themselves; Theo to Boris was not much of a stretch.

“Oh.” Her name was Daisy, according to her name tag. But it could’ve been anyone’s, taken out of a bin at the start of her shift.

Introducing himself was not part of the interaction at a restaurant, but Theo knew his credit cards had his name on it-- did he have enough cash to slip away unknown?

Boris spoke loudly as he swallowed, as if talking over Theo’s thoughts. “Cannot! Need to find a uh, _ kościół _, uh,” He waved out to Theo, knowing the word was translatable, if not only because of their long talks from years before.

“Church.” Theo relayed, blinking up at Daisy. He smiled, suddenly familiar with the art of lying, of selling a fake. “He’s _ very _ particular about what church we go to. Catholics, ya know?”

This made Daisy laugh, openly and with her hand on her stomach. The guest check and pen pressed against the waistband of her apron-- Theo only noticed then she was pregnant. A mother, warming up to strangers in the middle of her long morning shift. His smile turned genuine and he reached across the table, about to take Boris’s hand but failing half way and awkwardly taking his coffee mug again.

“So what can I get you two? Besides a good priest?”

“Ha ha.” Theo’s laugh came out calculated accidentally. He cleared his throat before he spoke again. “Uh, we’ll both have omelettes, yeah?” He looked at Boris who shrugged as if he had no say in the matter. “He’ll have… _ everything _ in it-- except mushrooms and tomatoes. And uh, I’ll just take a western. Thanks.”

“I’ll get that started for you right away.” She touched Theo’s shoulder as she passed. She scribbled hurriedly before disappearing into the kitchen. Her steps were loud and flat-footed. Theo wondered how badly her swelling feet hurt.

When Theo refocused, Boris was laughing into his coffee and finishing the cup in two strong gulps.

“What?”

“Why did you lie to her? She is no one.”

“You started!”

“Because you were about to act like we are business partners-- nothing to nobody! She would have felt embarrassed all day. She is nice lady-- beautiful and going to feed us. Why lie to her? Who is she?” Boris had far too much reason. It was kind of irritating, kind of what Theo loved about Boris. Not that he’d ever said that aloud. _ Still. _

And with that, he changed the subject. “What else did you want to do today?”

“Today is your plan.” Boris said. He flagged down a passing waitress for more coffee.

It was well known that Boris was a fast and gluttonous eater; childhood of food insecurity led to the appearance of adult greed. Theo understood, but that day in particular, there was something unsettling in Boris already sipping his second cup of coffee. Meals weren’t set to timers, but they did have a certain flow to them. One cup per half of a meal, on a regular pace. There were social cues assigned to the timing of a meal: when to get refills, when to ask for more of something, when to decide if you wanted dessert, when to ask for the check, when to _ open _ the check. Boris gulping down his second cup put Theo behind time, stationary but rushing to catch up. There was a warning he was missing-- why was Boris going so fast? What was he ignoring--

“Potter?” Boris placed his cup down across from Theo’s hand. His finger reached across the divide to poke him gently. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You are staring at me. And not in way I like.”

“Nothing. I’m fine.” Theo shook his head and exhaled slowly. He wanted to cry, right there in the restaurant, like some kind of startled infant. Everything was shaking, but only on the inside; Theo didn’t dare make a move.

“You’re lying again.”

“I’m not!”

“Theodore.” Boris snapped, chopping off Theo’s rebuttal. It was a sign he wanted to know and wasn’t going to dance around it. He wasn’t mad, but could very well be if they wanted to play that game. Theo did not.

“Could you…” he groaned at his own request. “Could you eat a little slower? Please.”

“Why does that bother you? Another thing I do that--”

“No. It makes me feel rushed… Like I’m missing something. I-- I want to feel like I have all afternoon with you. We’re not running anywhere.” Theo sighed, meeting Boris’s gaze and watching his eyes fizzle out with a blink.

“Rushed? No, no. Did not mean-- Yes. Can eat slower. Ridiculous request, but yes. Absolutely.”

“I-I’m sorry. Just for today, I guess. I mean, I don’t want to-- I’m just feeling really--”

“Potter, relax! I said yes, right? I will try.”

A part of relationships was asking things from one another, the other part was willingness to do them. As their plates were placed in front of them minutes later, Theo sat wondering what he’d agreed them to.

Leaving Boris was never an option as it was, even back in Vegas, it had just been the desperate choice made, as he felt, _ for _ Theo. He would’ve never left if he thought there was another way, he would’ve waited, he would’ve kissed back. Being reunited with Boris-- somehow safer and more sound than in the Netherlands-- was the only path Theo would consider for the future. He never truly gave much thought for The Future as it hurtled toward him, but he knew that it had to have Boris in it for it to have any clarity whatsoever.

With that said, was that the basis of a relationship? Codependency? Maybe that was just loyalty to them by that point. They’d traded enough secrets and drugs to know the other beyond the bounds of friendship-- and definitely beyond the comforts of using the word _ brotherhood _.

What was the word, then? _ Dating? _ No. It wasn’t a trial period. _ Married _? Even without the legal fanfare, it didn’t seem right. Theo had dodged one engagement, and watched enough marriages topple after being built on faulty foundations, to begin questioning its integrity. What was Theo talking himself into suddenly? What union was he suggesting they’d become?

And worse, what was Boris _ agreeing _ to, picking up his fork like it was an instrument, careful but steady as he got ready to eat. He waited for Theo.

“_ Sto lat. _” Theo muttered, lifting a piece of toast to Boris.

“To us.” He reached over and took the corner piece off of Theo’s toast. He popped it in his mouth with a wink.

**iii. **

They ate quietly, starting conversations before bites and letting them die while they chewed. It was incoherent at best, but the listening was innate. Theo nodded and hummed in acknowledgement as Boris tried speaking around his food-- still horrible with table manners but at least eating at the pace of a regular human being. He folded to Theo’s request, little argument and no bite. It was kind, but Theo couldn’t help itching to know what Boris would want from him.

“I’ll take the check, please.” Theo said to Daisy quietly, touching her elbow as she walked past. “When you get a second.”

“Of course! Did he like what you ordered?” She grinned, tearing a check out of her book.

“I heard no complaints.” There would never be a complaint over food. It was their common point; if either of them offered food as a meeting place, they’d gobble it up passing bread and wine and laughter.

“Delicious, very much so.” Boris chimed in, placing his napkin down. Wait, _ napkin _ . Theo eyed it curiously as the check was slipped into his hand. Boris really was putting the husband act on thick; it didn’t appear _ too _ artificial.

“Thank you for humoring me; our meal was an hour and a half.” Theo noted, checking his watch as he opened his wallet. He hovered over his cards before grabbing cash. Anonymity in at least name only. He gave her twice the gratuity tip, tucking all the bills around the check before pushing his chair back.

“Humor? Yes. I did have fun.” Boris pushed himself back and whipped on his coat in one swift motion. His coattails swung out and grazed over the chairs behind him. His front pocket hung heavy, Theo not knowing what was resting inside until they got outside.

On their way out, Theo thanked Daisy quickly and sincerely. He patted her arm and congratulated her-- softly, of course, in case it wasn’t public news. She grinned and waved them both out. She told Theo where he could find accepting clergy in town.

Theo let the door sink closed behind him, the muffled bell ringing inside. Boris produced a cigarette from his front pocket and started down the sidewalk. He held it unlit between his lips as he clicked his lighter unsuccessfully. Theo never carried one, not in his good coat at least. Imagine the look: an antiquesman with a BIC lighter? More like: unemployed.

“Where to now?”

“Uh, I don’t know.” Theo confessed, looking up and down the street. He was trying to guess where the city could house them. At least for the afternoon. On Thursdays, everything felt too committal, too ingrained in their routine to risk being seen. Theo couldn’t cut his usual business spots out if they disapproved of his company. “Oh, how about a movie?” They were safe. Darkness usually was.

“What is playing?”

“I think some slasher, a romcom or something, and that eighties re-release.” Theo recalled, having somehow remembered from the paper that morning.

“How about: re-release and I get pop-corn.” Boris finally caught a light, taking in a long inhale. Since coming back to the states, Boris changed his usual brand. They were stronger smelling, and lasted longer. The stale and thick smell hanging around Boris’s mouth longer, clinging to his hair for just a fraction more than it took to put the end out.

“I’m not really hungry after that.” Theo said, placing a hand on his chest.

“Not say it was for you.” Boris tisked, holding the cigarette out for Theo to take. “So greedy.”

“Is that what you ask of me?” Theo asked, still calculating. “Not to take your food?”

“Huh?”

“Nothing. Just talking shit.” Theo said, hissing the smoke out in a sidestream, away from Boris. The taste was near tangible, his tongue going over his top teeth as he passed the cigarette back. He didn’t look at Boris, knowing he’d give something away. Something _ else _away.

A cab would have been easier, but Boris insisted on walking. _ Can’t smoke in a cab _, he’d correctly insisted. Going through three cigarettes between the two of them proved Boris’s insistence to be reasonable. Theo puffed them down the quickest, taking long, deep breaths every time. Boris seemed surprised each time the filter would be passed back to him.

Walking wasn't the problem. It was watching the flags in the windows change from countries and sports teams to ones of rainbow variety. The Quad was in the Village, the two of them stepping right into the quiet corner of the city Theo always felt off visiting. He wanted to stare, as if to say,_ hey, me too _ . But always stared at his shoes instead, accidentally saying, _ i don’t want to see you or be seen by you _. It was a difficult line to cross-- one of solidarity to bigotry-- but Theo knew it well. The two sides were miles apart but each step wobbled between the other.

Theo wasn’t sure what he thought of rainbow flags. If he should want one or even feel some kind of kinship with it.

Boris must’ve caught him staring.

“You want one?” He pointed openly to the large flag hanging outside of an apartment complex; _ safe-space housing for all couples and families _.

“No.”

“Why not? You keep staring! On way home, we stop. Get you one. Hang it over your desk-- with all your boring fucking papers-- will look nice! Come on, Potter. I’ll get it for you-- or just take it from the building myself.” Boris nudged Theo’s side, his hand grabbing Theo’s forearm briefly; his hands were stuffed in his pockets.

“No! I don’t want one.” Theo hissed. “What about you? Why don’t you get one?”

“Am not gay, is why.” Boris said without surprise or elaboration. It was the first they’d ever truly discussed the topic. It was obvious where their sexualities overlapped, but it was clear to Theo that Boris, while his only at the moment, wouldn’t have been his only male partner.

“Consider me lost.” Theo said. This was definitely it, what Boris was going to ask for: for Theo to not let his inability to love anyone else overshadow the fact that Theo was Boris’s lucky strike, his one in a million, the only man he’d sleep with because he was in between girlfriends.

Theo held his breath and tried to act casual. He reached out of his pocket and into Boris’s for another cigarette. It forced him to breathe.

“Am beyond-- word is so small. Limiting to whole picture. God, or whatever have out there. Am not _ one _ word. If I do everything with love, why pick one kind of person. Love is for all, no?”

“I guess.”

_ Oh god _, Theo huffed and tried to pretend the smoke was burning his eyes. Was he limiting to Boris? Was he putting too much weight in what was just finding happiness? Wasn’t it supposed to be ephemeral. Wasn’t that what made happiness so grand in the first place; it could come and go as it pleased. It had no master and no control, opposing the moon and the tides.

It was fine if Boris didn’t think of himself as gay, that wasn’t any of Theo’s business, but it mattered if Boris thought of their… _ whatever it was _ as casually as he thought of passing kindness and love onto strangers. Boris was a very open person generally-- but loving? No. That was supposed to be for Theo, or at least he so selfishly thought.

**iv.**

In the dark of the movie, some synth tune playing from the speakers and laughter bubbling up from the seats, Boris grabbed Theo’s hand. The tips of his fingers were greasy and pricked with granules of salt. It was almost as if he’d gotten the impulse to grab him, unable to wipe his hands and waste another second. It wasn’t the truth, but the thought moved Theo near tears. A burden couldn’t do that, could he?

“Hey.” Theo whispered.

“Yeah?” Boris moved his hair away from his ear, leaning closer.

It was dark. No one would see them. The seats were tall and the rows were short. They were in the Village for fuck’s sake.

“Nevermind. I’ll tell you later.” Theo muttered, squeezing Boris’s hand. “Not important.”

**v.**

“I think I should head back home.” Theo said, turning is collar up against the sudden dusk wind. 

They’d found a strip of stores they’d never seen before after the movie, winding in and out of aisles, pretending they’d never touched the other before. Theo was startled every time Boris’s hand found its way onto his back. It was closing in on dinnertime and Theo was getting hungry. There was something leftover in Hobbie’s fridge, there always was.

“Come back with me-- I’m closer!” Boris pointed in the zigzagging directions they’d need to walk to reach his apartment. “I even get you cab if your feet are tired. Here, let me--”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll just go home, Boris. Really.” Theo had convinced himself that Boris was just being polite in his invitation. “I’ll see you later.”

“Theo, stay.” Boris swept forward and grabbed Theo’s hand, keeping him from stepping onto the crosswalk. A stream of people pushed past them, shouldering Theo’s stationary figure. “Let me order food on walk there. Pick it up before we go up-- fastest restaurant on the block. Trust me. Really really good-- authentic too. Chinese guys, family recipes. To _ die _ for. Here, look, I call right now.”

Before Theo could twist his hand out of Boris’s grasp, the phone was lifted to his ear. He ordered quickly, barely in English, before tapping off the call and slipping his phone in with his lighter and near-empty box of cigarettes.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Is already done. Let’s go. Do you want car or to walk? I think car, you’ve been walking all day. God, wish I still had my driver. We’d already be on the couch by now. No, we find taxi. Get you off your feet. Long day of critiquing, Potter.” Boris said with a laugh, walking up to the edge of the curb-- nearly off of it-- as he summoned a passing cab to him. He hadn’t let go of Theo’s hand.

“That flea market was reselling stuff from Pottery Barn.” Theo said in defense.

“‘_ Is not worn correctly! Too even, too fine! _’ hilarious how much there is to know! And yet, Potter, you know all of it.” Boris opened the door for him. He lifted their hands, like Theo was a woman in tall heels in danger of falling as he sat down in the back.

“It’s my job to know.”

“This is true. It is. To know very much about so little.” Boris climbed in beside him, slamming the door.

The driver was looking at them through the rear view mirror. His eyes hovered downward before going back to Theo’s, eyebrows lifted.

“Uh, not me.” Theo sputtered, pointing at Boris. The address, the physical name and number of it, slipped his mind. It was just muscle memory; a North Star if Theo ever believe in it.

“Is my place.” Boris said, remembering his end of the transaction. He recounted his address, patting the back of the driver’s seat goodnaturedly before doing the same to the top of Theo’s hand. He still hadn’t let go.

“Isn’t it a bit early to be turning in, fellas?” The driver had a deep voice, but spoke kindly-- and drove like a bit of a maniac.

“Been out all day! Breakfast, movie, shopping-- god! Walking, walking, _ walking _.”

Theo hated that he didn’t name their activity as just _ walking _ . No, it had to be _ shopping _ . Shopping sounded so feminine and suburban. They were grown men with multiple commas to their savings accounts. They didn’t _ shop _. They went and they bought, otherwise they were just perusing. He twisted his hand in Boris’s, a small warning he was growing uncomfortable. Claustrophobic in his own skin; so little places to go.

“I don’t see any bags. Nothing to your liking?” The driver asked. Theo didn’t like the tone. They didn’t have ridiculous taste just because they were _ two men _ . No, their high taste was because of how sticky their fingers got around fine art and antiques, but _ that _wasn’t always a welcome rebuttal.

“No. Friend here knows too much to be swindled by Potpourri Barn!”

“_ Pottery _ Barn, Boris.” Theo corrected softly. _ God _, he sounded like a nagging wife.

“Yes! The Barn! All _ not _ old-- but they say it was! Lying to our faces! HA, if they only knew.”

“That’s New York for you.” The driver laughed. “How long you two in town? Week-long getaway? Honeymoon?”

“We both live here.” Theo cut in. “We’re from… Well, _ I’m _ from here.” After opening his mouth, there was no way to convince anyone that Boris was from Manhattan. “We’re not on vacation.”

“Oh, sorry. Nothing against you, just seems like a lot for locals.”

“We had a day. Two of us.”

“Boris, shut _ up _.” Theo hissed, yanking his hand like rope to a curtain. Cut the show, he’d seen enough.

“What? We can small talk, can we not? There will be traffic-- can not spend it in silence.”

Boris really did everything with love, in some weird way, didn’t he? Sure, etiquette wasn’t the first thing on his mind, but he was a people person; making even the most benign interactions for a New Yorker enjoyable. He wasn’t going to make their driver sit in awkward silence while they did the same in the back.

“Am I stealing his attention away?” The driver was teasing Theo now, casting a glance up at him despite swerving the car into another lane. “I can let you two talk."

“No, I didn’t mean it like that.” Now Theo just looked rude.

“It’s okay! I get like that with my boyfriend all the time. I understand.”

“Boyfriend! You have one. Tell me. Better than sun on Earth?” Boris cheered, resting their laced fingers in his lap.

“Of course.”

“Ah, so there is two.” Boris added with a chuckle, stealing a look at Theo.

The sweet sentence soured within Theo. The alarm was going off, but there was nowhere for the sound to go. The walls were close together-- skin tight-- and the echo began throbbing in Theo’s ears. Who was this man? How did they know he was okay to trust? Who else did he know that he’d start blabbing too-- _ Oh I had these gay guys in my cab last week. One looked like a sheep dog and the other, man, like a male Velma Dinkley or something. Wait? Yeah! Do you know ‘em? No shit! I had no idea. Well, let me tell you-- _

“--Potter, he is talking to you.”

“Huh? What?” Theo gasped, sitting up again. He still hadn’t let go of Boris’s hand. “Sorry.”

“I just asked what you have against Pottery Barn. Your husband says you were reaming them out while you guys were shopping. What gives?”

“Uh,” Theo wasn’t going to correct someone for the second time that day. “It’s given forced character. It doesn’t have any life to it. You can’t fake that on furniture; it makes the room feel stiff rather than inviting.”

“Oh, wow.” The driver mulled the sentence over. “Into interior design?”

Theo clenched his teeth, trying not to be offended or feel cornered. It was a fair question. He had opinions about _ room character _ . He sounded like a _ gay interior designer _. No big deal.

“I deal antiques.” Theo said, voice tight. _ That wasn’t any better. _

“Oh! Well, that makes a lot more sense. Bet you two’s house looks great.” He made his last turn, Boris’s place just straight ahead after a bit.

“Oh no.” Boris said, his hand tightening on Theo’s. He was trying to hold the alarm still. “We do not live together.”

“Oh no?” The driver acted as if he had a say in this matter.

“No.” Boris answered. “Do not.”

Theo’s narrow focus missed all disappointment in Boris’s voice and went instead for the firmness in it. It sounded like a rule: _ no, we don’t live together. That’s not allowed, not necessary _.

It made sense to Theo, if he put his mind (falsely) to it, what good was sharing yourself if you_ had _ to share your space too? What was your own after a while?

And here, Theo was hoping he’d have nothing left that wasn’t Boris’s.

**vi.**

Straight out of the cab, Boris dropped Theo’s hand if only to have both free to carry their food. It was only a block down and around, stories of the taste and delicious flavorful smells-- _ the smells, Potter, the _ ** _smell_ ** _ sneaks up at you at night. Can smell it rooms away. So tempting all hours-- _ spilling out of Boris’s lips. It was easy to stay silent and try to process their cab ride.

For about forty minutes, Theo had been out. Completely and casually. Fully and stupidly. Blindly and happily. Boris didn’t seem to mind the momentous change, chattering relentlessly until Theo was all but pushing him out of the backseat. It hadn’t harmed Theo at all, but he still felt unsettled. It left him wanting to be close with Boris again-- _ why did he have to drop my hand _\-- but extra aware of how easy it was to spot them. Two men, easily mislabeled as husbands.

Theo left a considerable distance between them as he followed Boris up the stairs to his apartment. To anyone they passed, he tried to look like an unwilling participant in their conversation. By the time Theo finally got inside, Boris was already setting out their cartons and pulling out a chair for Theo. He took the other rickety metal chair across the table. It was stolen from an old diner or something, Theo was sure. The vinyl had been sun-beaten into a rosey salmon from its original cherry red.

“Come on, take a seat. Take off your coat-- shoes too, what are you thinking of taking off running? Sit with me, Potter. You’ve got to be starving. I’m beat. So hungry. Ready to eat everything in sight. You’ve got to be hungry.” He pointed his chopsticks at the empty seat.

“I still have to go home, remember?” Theo said, keeping his shoes on. “I can’t sleep over again.”

“And why not?” Boris seemed to argue more strongly when he was chewing.

“I never stay two nights.” Theo wasn’t sure if Boris had noticed their strangely unspoken rule, but it was true. They always either alternated or went their separate ways.

“Bullshit! Stay again! My place was closer so we came back here-- stay! Come on, sit down and eat with me. It’s food. No complaints.”

“No, really, I should get back.” Theo rubbed a hand over his face- the one that had been holding Boris’s hand not five minutes before. He could still smell the nicotine and popcorn butter. “I’m sorry to make you get all this food.”

“Theo! Wait!” Boris was scrambling out of his chair. “Not before I speak.” Theo had barely even turned away. Someone new was on the defensive. His eyes were wide as if he was moments from hitting a high, but his eyebrows were furrowed with fear.

Theo had already asked something of Boris that day, but he wished he had saved it to simply be: _ just fucking say it. End it already _.

“I have to get home, Boris.”

“This. This is your home. Can be!” He said, slipping his hands under the shoulders of Theo’s coat. In Theo’s disarmament, he pushed the lapel back and down his arms. “If not, make it so. Put your things next to mine, move the bed, buy paint-- whatever you need. Stay here, with me. Sleepovers are not for grown men, Theo. They are not for us. Men own _ homes _ . Two men, yes, two men can own _ one _home. Well, apartment, better word. But own, we can! Together, like old times, practically splitting imaginary rent in father’s house!”

This, and only this, was what Boris was asking of Theo: to live with him. And Theo had all the willingness to do so.

“Are you asking me to move in with you?” The idea seemed preposterous. 

“I am. Other key is being made as we speak and-- and I want you to stay. I don’t like the look you get on your face when you talk about taking the ride back to yours. Face gets so long, Potter, I hate it. Makes me want to ride with you, only to make you drive all the way back with me-- we’d live together in the cars between doorsteps! Unable to say goodbye.” _ Just like old times _. “But now we don’t have to! I come home-- ah-ha! You’re here! You come home, hooray, so am I!”

“Boris, this is crazy.”

“Look back at our lives and say that? How can you?” He laughed heartily, still undressing Theo of his outerwear. “We’ve shared the bed in your dad’s house more than we have here. What’s the no for?”

“Are you sure? You want me to live here?”

“I asked, didn’t I?” Boris exclaimed, waving his hands out. The space was his-- _ theirs _ . “Live with me, Theo. Stay here. Share with me-- the house, the bed, the _ food-- _”

“The rent.” Theo added.

“Hush hush. Missing the point, as always.” Boris cupped his face, as if forcing him to nod. “Do it, yes?”

“Y-Yeah. Okay.” Theo held his wrists, thumbs resting against the back of Boris’s hands. “Okay! Yes, I’ll stay.”

“Perfect! He says yes! He agrees with me!” Boris cried, bringing Theo forward quickly. They kissed and Theo’s glasses are only a little dislodged. “We must celebrate! I think I have some wine-- something in the cupboard! Saved for this very moment!”

“No, no, Boris that’s alright.” Theo would have _ loved _ a glass-- or maybe five-- of whatever year Boris somehow always had on tap, but it felt like a recreation. They were sharing the same space again and suddenly slipping down the slope into getting blacked out? No. Maybe not the best idea. “The food is enough. Let me share this with you-- We won’t even use plates. We’ll pass the cartons back and forth on the couch, like we used to when we were in my dad’s house.”

Boris looked touched. He kissed Theo again, softly and with the intent of getting Theo’s rigid posture to melt. It worked.

**vii.**

On the couch, shoes off and coat still on the ground, Theo rested his head on Boris’s lap. His body stretched out over the other half of the couch, feet over the armrest, while his head was turned to the side, watching the quiet TV program that was on. Theo wasn’t paying attention and he also wasn’t sure if it was in English. He’d finished eating then, but before had a pillow propping his neck up so he didn’t choke in his horizontal dining position. Boris though, was still picking at their carton of lo mein, intermittently resting it on Theo’s chest as he stopped to change the channel or mindlessly move Theo’s glasses up and down on his face, smudging them horrifically. Theo threatened hollowly that if he got any food on him, he’d strangle Boris himself. Boris laughed and poked Theo’s glasses with a greasy finger.

“Asshole.” He mumbled, scrunching his nose to look under the lenses at Boris.

Theo was so full and had such aching bones, as Boris finally replaced the carton with his hand resting on Theo’s chest, he couldn’t help but start to nod off. His breathing became slow and dreamy, his blinking languid and promising.

“Tired, Potter?”

“Not that much. I’m just listening to the TV.” It definitely wasn’t in English.

“Want me to turn it off?” Boris offered. “Or how about change? This making you sleepy?”

“No. No, it’s not.” Theo was half lying. He wasn’t sure how effective it would have been if it was in a language he understood.

“Here, I put on-- Uh, here! Jeopardy! The ‘what is’ show!” Boris pronounced it Jep_ -ar _-dy, clicking the remote quickly. “Here, answer with me. I bet you all-- double, truly!”

“You can’t bet if you don’t get any of the questions right.” Theo said, blinking himself back to consciousness. Alex Trebek’s voice struck him back awake and to where he was. It rattled him, and his alarm.

He remembered watching the show with his mother, even having it on in the background of days in his father’s house. It was a grounding host of sounds-- the timer, the buzzer, the _ Daily Double _ chime. It was a show that could be found in every household, every normal family, and here it was entertaining two grown men that were all but-- dare he _ say it _ \-- _ married _?

That child that used to watch Jeopardy, shouting all the answers and tallying his humble imaginary winnings, was still lying on their couch. His head was resting in Boris’s lap, letting a hand rest on his forehead and ground him in comfort. For a moment, that child was disgusted. His curdling instinct to _ run _ struck up inside of Theo and he lurched upright. Boris’s arms lifted in alarm, trying not to accidentally strike him.

That child wasn’t sure when he’d gotten so comfortable being something no one knew about. The apartment was their secret, and so were the memories they were making around the common game show. Theo was a liar in the dark: even when no one was looking. There were people in his life, alive and dead, that would never know this part of him, and he wasn’t sure if that meant it was okay to submit to.

“Potter, what’s wrong?” Boris squinted and reached for Theo’s glasses. He polished them as Theo suffocated the words a younger him would’ve said: _ god, what are we doing? being fuckin’ _ ** _girls_ ** _ , staying in and watching TV? god, lets see what Xandra’s hiding and-- _

“I think I’m going to get ready for bed.” Theo stood, wobbling without his depth perception. Boris held the glasses out as he turned the TV off. “You don’t have to get up. I think I’m just-- I think you’re right. I’m tired.”

“Be in anyway. Five minutes! Can’t play Jeopardy myself-- that’s pointless gambling. Money _ and _bragging rights, that’s always a plus. Can’t brag if you’re the house too!” Boris clapped his hands against his legs before he stood. “Want a smoke?”

_ Yes yes yes. Yes. _ “No.”

Theo turned away from Boris’s tisk, going down the thin hallway to the back bedroom. It was poorly lit and even more sorely decorated: dark plum wallpaper, peeling at the seams by the windows, where sticky city summers had taken it victim; a dark oak bed frame bought at a hefty discount because the posts were built too short to look correct when wrapped in canopy, which Boris’s never was; and scratchy blankets that sat on top of simple cotton sheets. There was one dresser, five drawers tall, that had a wood grain that didn’t match the bed or any of the other furniture, and held _ all _ of Boris’s belongings-- and still had empty space. Theo wouldn’t have to ask Boris to make any room. He already fit in.

Through the bedroom was the ensuite bathroom, complete with all leaky fixtures and a semi-moldy shower curtain. Theo started the sink, its faucet spitting up thick droplets of water onto his cuffs before starting a slow stream down the side and into the basin. He splashed cold water against his face, nearly forgetting to take his glasses off. His mind began racing, trying to find a way to cover up what he’d done-- but first, he couldn’t seem to place what wrong he’d committed.

He’d felt the same crumpling fear years before, lying flat on his back in Vegas with Boris over him. His hands pressed into the bed on either side of his shoulders, hair framing his face like a waterfall. Boris’s lips were parted and sending his heavy breathing out in rounded gusts; Theo could feel it against his cheeks.

_“Are you scared?”_ _Boris asked. He had hope in his voice for a certain answer._

_“Yes.”_ _Theo didn’t know what it’d mean, once they’d done It. He was already calculating ways to erase actions he had yet to do. It was like an accidental spill he’d have to pull rugs and tear carpet to cover up in a heated panic-- but he was standing there, waiting to tip the cup. “Yes.”_

_ “Don’t be. Is just me. You know me.” _

Sputtering against the cold, Theo knew Boris had been right then and still was. Their shared memories had practically formed a shared consciousness, the two of them taking the same steps, mistakes or not, together; walking in and out of trouble like a waltz. Two people peeled apart at the seam-- at the soul-- and placed on two sides of the country with a timer ticking. Just like a bomb-- _the_ bomb-- maybe.

The towels were like wool as Theo wiped his face, still exhaling strongly. He tossed the towel back on the edge of the sink and began unbuttoning his shirt. He hadn’t grabbed any of his other clothes and had to sleep in just his underwear. He could have borrowed some of Boris’s clothes, but that wasn’t the right cover-up for the situation; that was like pouring red wine to extinguish a fire burning on white carpet.

Not a minute after Theo relaxed into the mattress, his lower back cracking and neck aching at the stretch, the bedroom door opened and Boris came in-- loudly and without much apologies. He knew Theo would still be awake, truthfully.

Boris didn't even reach the dresser; he undressed quickly, dropping his clothes where he stood before sliding under the covers. Theo seized up, if only for a moment at the new warmth beside him. It was practically white hot, rough but like velvet at the same time.

It had been a long day, tugging and pulling away but never knowing what was the better choice. Theo ached all over, but maybe it was _ for _ something. For someone. A chance to stop, to settle.

_ Are you scared? _

_ No. _

“Hey.” Theo started carefully, turning over in bed and moving his glasses back on the bridge of his nose.

“Hello.” Boris said with a stupidly happy grin. He spoke formally, if only because Theo always had the habit of doing so when they were that close together. When things had the possibility of getting more intimate.

“Thanks for letting me stay over.”

“I told you. It’s your house now too.” Boris said, holding his arms up to the room. “A man doesn’t have to thank anyone in his own house.”

Theo reached up and grabbed one of Boris’s hands, pulling it down and resting it on his face, careful and calculated. “Borya.” He said. “Thank you.”

“Borya?” Boris repeated, making sure he’d heard Theo correctly. The name was rare and saved for special moments between them; when Theo was haunted by his own buried hatred and repressed desires, and unable to say what he wanted to say, or even initiate what he loved doing with Boris. It was the one-word go ahead for Boris to remind him he had nothing to be ashamed of. “Yes?”

“Yeah.” It was an exhale, forcing himself to go limp and ignore his own panic.

In all honesty, kissing was still very strange to Theo. He could never get out of his head long enough to enjoy it fully. There was too much movement to consider-- while also not a whole lot either. It was like moving cups for a magic trick; there were only so many things he could do without just going completely off-script, and simply being a very bad magician and kisser. Which he constantly thought he was, only to be assured later he wasn’t. Which could be one of the many lies Boris had gotten very good at telling in his growing wisdom and honest swindling.

“You’re stiff, Theo. Is okay.” Boris muttered, hand still cupping his cheek. Theo envied Boris’s ability to cut off any cautious, self-conscious thoughts to his brain. In a matter of moments after Theo’s blushing admittance of wanting to be close with him, Boris was rolling over to brace his weight just over Theo’s chest, slowly pushing him back onto the pillows. “If you want no more just tell me.”

“I’m okay.” Theo hated how unsure he acted despite knowing he wanted to be kissing Boris, holding and touching him, just _ being _ with him. No matter how much he knew he’d want to-- in the private freedom of his own thoughts-- when it came to admitting it aloud, to being heard by another person to be wanting those things, even possibly embarrassing himself by saying the wrong things, it was too much. Theo would cower away and be thought to be uninterested. _ Borya _was his way of inching closer while having Boris do most of the moving.

“You look so handsome.” Boris said, smoothing back Theo’s hair. He was really big with compliments. Not only was Boris big with talking in general, he also really liked to believe it helped get Theo talking too. It was yet to do that, but it was still nice that Boris kept it up. “Can I take your specs? I put them aside. Usual place.”

“Y-Yeah. Here.” Theo held his glasses up and squinted into the dark shadows of the room as Boris’s shape moved toward his night stand. It was dark and his vision wasn’t entirely necessary, but it was a comfort, to know exactly where and what he was doing. Not that it mattered-- he was _ always _ clueless somehow.

The first time they had sex as sober consenting adults, it was an embarrassing sideshow event. Boris was kind and told Theo how great it was-- so much better than being stupid kids fooling around in their grimy parents’ bathrooms-- but Theo knew it was a disappointing attempt. He’d been silent the entire time, rigid as a board, and kept his arms frozen by his sides. He’d been too horrified by his own delight to speak any man’s name. It was in the last shaky moments of consciousness that Theo began shaking his head. It was intended to stop his own wave of guilt from drowning him, but it ended up startling Boris and getting him to come to a sudden and untimely halt right as Theo was one last deep breath from tumbling over the edge.

He was so embarrassed, he never again brought the idea up, no matter how much he’d wanted to try it once more.

It had been at least six months since then, and Theo was still trying to get better at acknowledging his own comfort, but it was still a daily frustration. There was _ no one else around _ , but somehow, Theo couldn’t stop thinking of how he sounded to _ everyone else _. Despite it only being Boris, his Boris, the boy who knew every secret and kept it close and personal. He could trust Boris to die for him-- nearly did-- and still, somehow, his opinion of him scared Theo to no end.

Theo remained silent, much to his own dismay. He was able to bubble up a few sounds-- a hum of agreement, short and staccato; a short hiss that definitely could have been a ‘_ yes _’ if misheard correctly; and a moan that finally broke his mold and had his hands grabbing for Boris’s shoulders as Boris’s one arm tightened around his hips and lower back, and pulled him closer. Boris laughed, not at him, but as his only way to smile wider than he already was. His kisses were lop-sided and off-center from his giggling, slowly infectious and comforting.

By the time Boris was back to full sentences-- at the same time Theo was _ not _\-- neither could stop themselves from laughing. They were sitting up, legs overlapping hips and facing opposite directions, Boris’s hands bracing Theo’s back for touch and to keep him from toppling over. Theo was a mess-- hiccuping and giggling and sobbing and snorting. Boris was no better, trying to speak in smooth suave sentences while his crooked smile bared his new, perfect teeth and silenced his coherence.

There was only one exchange, gasped between fits of laughter:

_ Boris-- _

_ Yes? Yes, what? I’m here. _

_ God-- Boris-- _

_ Yes. Yes. I know. _

_ Fuck… Boris, Fuck. _

_ Shhh, Theo. You’re okay. _

Boris never asked questions-- never tried to instigate Theo or get him to answer during a time he was seconds from collapsing _ and _ crumpling-- but instead just listened to Theo, agreeing with his fragmented expletives and constant reminders that he was with the only person he trusted. Hearing that same, slanted voice from beyond Theo’s star-spotted vision after grappling for it in the fog of his fears was a secret rush, a safety Theo couldn’t get enough of.

In the hanging silence afterward, Theo always felt the most self-conscious. He hated how he began to re-feel every part of his body. How now it only felt attached to him and no one else. It was easy to feel ugly that way, to feel embarrassed about letting himself get thrown apart so _ so _ easily.

Boris didn’t speak a word. His hands eased Theo back down, letting him lay down before he readjusted and moved to find comfort beside him. Theo listened to their heavy breathing and began to feel like there was panic in Boris’s cadence. It was fast, like he’d been running-- and trying to run faster. The alarm began ringing again, Theo’s bones still fragile and the ringing sending shock waves up to his chest. He gasped, already feeling like his chest was filled with air.

Theo still couldn’t see with full clarity, his hands having to reach out to find Boris’s chest in the dim shadows.

“Why are you breathing like that? Are you mad or something?”

“What? No! No, Theo, I must catch breath.” He laughed again, his chest caving harshly almost in a cough. _ Oh. _

“Y-You’re still catching your-- laughing. That’s it.” Theo exhaled and thought all his bones would turn to liquid as he blinked.

“Yes! Yes! I find you happy-- not funny, nothing to laugh _ at _, no no. But something so happy, it comes from me. Deep in my stomach; just want to laugh when I see you sometimes. Idiots! The both of us! But, still, somehow here together! A plan set by something greater, I know this.”

“Sure.” Theo reached for his glasses with his other hand. He took another deep breath, strictly because he could now.

“You are okay?” Boris placed his hand over Theo’s on his chest.

“Of course I am.” Theo tried to sound flirtatious, like what they had just done wasn’t already trying to be forced _ down down down _ and away from his mind-- _ God, what would everyone think if they knew that-- _ he was unsuccessful and sounded only half convinced. Boris curled his fingers around Theo’s hand, a panic of his own. “No, really. Yeah. I, uh… I loved it. I--” Theo huffed. “I love you.”

Boris clicked his tongue and rolled onto his side, facing Theo. “Is _ that _ what you were trying to say the whole time? The theatrics! _ ‘Boris! Boris! Oh Boris! _’ was that it?”

“Fuck off.” Theo pushed Boris lightly on the shoulder. He was waiting, the time scraping by. Each second seemed to be trying to build to some greater rejection.

But, of course, Boris would never: “Love you too, Potter. ‘Course I do. Would not go through hell for anyone else. My little _ ptaszyna _.”

Theo could feel his entire body again, his legs still slightly quivering and back arching as he shifted. He still felt unsettled and like he’d done something unforgivable, but he kept breathing and listening to Boris breathe. In a small, guiltful reminder, no one knew but them. Theo had disappeared from all but four people’s lives to make sure he could more securely establish himself where he wanted to be. Although, that had very little to do with getting a new address and all to do with the man laying beside him, whispering an old evening comfort: _ is just me, Potter _ . _ Is just me _.


	2. Now What?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy this extremely long, self-indulgent epilogue/part ii. xx

**i.**

The first time Boris came back to his apartment-- came  _ home _ \-- after asking Theo to move in, the sound of the lock turning scared Theo nearly to death. He was fully aware Boris was, at the moment, the only person with a key to the place; Theo had come by earlier that afternoon before Boris went out for his own evening to-do, locking him inside. It was a day closer to when Theo was finally getting a copy of the key, but convenience did little to comfort his sudden anxiety. When had the sound of a lock turning, especially two rooms over, ever meant something particularly good for Theo?

“Potter? Are you here?” It didn’t sound like Boris was teasing, like trying to find Popper hiding his toys. He was concerned.

“Yeah! Back here.” Theo stepped out into the hallway, waving at Boris as he was unbuttoning his coat. “Hi. How was your, uh,” Theo swallowed his instinct to sour at his words. He’d heard it so many times in soap operas and romcoms and sitcoms and plays and even real life, but it was always spoken by a woman. The dutiful wife. “How was your day--  _ work _ . How was work?” Did Boris consider what he did  _ work _ ? Or was it a kind of habit of life; like having to pick out an outfit everyday.

_ Ah, Potter _ , he’d probably say, arms stretching out languidly around the back of the couch, where Theo would finally feel comfortable asking him,  _ is just how I am. Thief! Good one too. Why not keep it up while I can? _

“Was usual. Was out, about, here, there. You know.” Boris waved his hand around, furrowing his face up. “Is not important-- what is? I shall tell you! It is you here! You are still here. I am shocked, truly.”

“W-Was I not supposed to be?” God, there Theo went again, taking the smallest sign of kindness from Boris and acting like it meant that they were all but  _ married _ .

Fuck, Theo still needed a word for them. What were they? What were they  _ doing _ ? Living, eating, and sleeping together, saying  _ I love you _ , but still unable to hold hands in public-- still not quite sure how serious Boris was about their insignificant inconsistent view on pride materials. It was all so confusing. Theo just thought he could lay on his bed--  _ their bed _ \-- after a long morning of walking errands; an idiot in his own right.

“No! Here you should be! I am glad, very glad you are! That means you listen to me-- for once, point is understood with you, Potter! Listen to me careful and, ah-ha! Are here before me, sitting and look! Already out of work clothes!” Boris walked toward Theo with his arm outstretched, somewhat for the embrace, but mostly the mime the usual many layers Theo would have on-- and Boris  _ would _ be forced to painstakingly unbutton and strip down, if the evening was right. “That is my shirt, no?”

“N-No!” It was Theo’s, without a doubt. He’d remembered having it since he was fifteen.

“Y-Yes it is! It is mine. Have been looking for that shirt! Stole it from a goodwill-- one of the first things I ever stole that could not be eaten! It keeps you warm, no? Good in Russia! Even better in desert when you are bone and skin, with inside cold turned up very high.” Boris poked at the buttons of the shirt. “But, don’t miss it. Is yours-- How was your day? Since I’ve seen you, what have you done? Left and gone back to other home or no?”

“I went back to… the shop.” It wasn’t home anymore. “And I told Hobie.” Theo said, fumbling with the top of the three buttons. It couldn’t have been Boris’s. It was so well-worn and well-loved, across state lines and partners and lies and truths.

Even when Theo didn’t have Boris, he had apparently forgotten to let go.

“Yes?” Boris stepped around Theo to walk into the bedroom. He had his head turned and was still trying to look at him while simultaneously trying to pull off his shoes. He was going to faceplant, but Theo didn’t correct his methods. He  _ wasn’t _ a nagging wife. “And what does he say?”

After returning home in the same clothes as two days before, far less pressed, Theo shuffled slowly into the kitchen. He sat down at the small dining table before announcing his presence. Hobie saw him. He stood at the table kneading some kind of dough and waited for Theo to rupture the silence.

_ Hobie. I’m moving out _ .

For the life of him, Theo couldn’t remember what Hobie had said in return. He only heard his tone and cadence of words: tense but still slow speaking. He was concerned but not angry.

_ Boris… He asked me to move in with him. His place-- just on the other side of town. _

Theo watched Hobie’s hands, stuck but not trapped in the blob of sticky dough. They were occupied, unable to swing out and strike him. Theo didn’t look away, just in case.

_ I’ll be back and forth for a while during the day. But I think I’m going to start staying most nights. If that’s okay _ .

Tone: gentle and sweet. An agreement. A well wish.

_ Thanks, Hobie. I-I’m sorry. I hope this isn’t-- _

More stern; denying Theo before words were put in his mouth. Maybe the only words Theo was likely to hear. A hand, released from the dough, rested on Theo’s shoulder. He flinched, arms crossing and going up in front of his face.

He hadn’t been able to do it as a kid. His brain wasn’t even primed to the possibility; violence coming from a direct source and choosing him, rather than an act of cruelty thrown out by the universe, like a handful of darts at a board. Before, Theo had only been able to stare into the eyes of his father, watching them change before and after the hit, and wonder just  _ when  _ he was supposed to know when it was coming. What was the sign he’d asked for it. Theo still wasn’t sure at what point it should’ve appeared on Hobie’s face, but he had protected himself anyway-- uselessly-- against a father’s kind touch.

“He sends his best.” Theo lied, although he was sure it wasn’t that far off from the truth. Hobie always liked Boris, it seemed. It might have just been because of how Theo painted him in stories-- maybe Hobie hated him, wishing he’d kept his seductive Sin City charm out of his shop and kept his orphan worksman out of such a blasphemous relationship.

Theo blinked, wondering when he’d thought of Hobie as so secretly conniving. He felt the need to apologize to him, call him just to say that he knew Hobie was being sincere; he was with just about everything else. Why wouldn’t he be in telling Theo he was happy for his new step.

“Potter.” Boris snapped his fingers in front of Theo’s face. “Am speaking to you. Again-- what is with you? Always off thinking. Dreaming of something better than conversation with me? Is that it? I bore you, Potter?” Boris was laughing, catching himself on the wall as he toppled forward. His shoe had caught on his heel.

“Sorry. What did you say?” Theo braced his back against the door frame. He crossed his hands behind his back, the edge of the frame pressed between the bones in his palm. It was easier to blink through pain and stay focused than to try and keep his feet on the ground as he floated through uncertainty. He’d lied through gritted teeth most of his childhood; he’d never quite mastered unwrapping his thick-tongued worries into coherent thoughts.

“There is something wrong.” Boris straightened, his stocking feet somehow sturdier on the ground than with his boots. “You aren’t paying attention.”

“Look, I’m sorry I was distracted. I’m fine. What were you saying?” Theo nodded and hoped to sound apologetic enough to stroke Boris’s ego into getting to  _ his _ point rather than worrying about him. Theo could get Boris to do anything if he asked the right way; even if it was asking Boris to ignore him.

“No, you are acting weird. You are not happy, what happened today? Someone speak to you? Who was it? You tell me where they are-- I will have talking to with them. Why are you so quiet-- Are you even listening to me, now? Potter, what is wrong?”

“Nothing!” Theo laughed, taken aback by the concern. He wasn’t sure why he was amused; maybe because he always thought genuine concern from peers was a gag; a bully trying to lower his inhibitions to then try and shatter his glasses against the vent of a locker.

“You look upset.”

“I--” Theo leaned back farther. “We don’t have to talk about our  _ feelings _ , Boris. We aren’t  _ women _ .”

Boris blinked. “True, we are not. We are men and when men ask questions it is because we want answers-- we are stupid that way. Asking everything  _ why why why _ , pray directly to God for  _ answers _ , write with questions all over history. Men want answers! And I am man.” Boris stepped to Theo, placing his hand on his arm. “I want answers. Why are you upset?”

Theo wanted to kiss Boris, it was such a strong impulse, one he’d never really felt before. He was so close, looking up at Theo in that  _ slight _ way he had to after losing the inch and a half of his boots. His hair was still matted but styled perfectly to be his own, hanging over his forehead and around his ears. Theo’s fingers always got caught in it if he wasn’t careful, but still, it wasn’t like he wanted to let go anyway.

Typically, any impulse would start low  _ low _ in Theo’s stomach. Hell in his own body, reminding him he wasn’t as pure as he forced his mind to be. It would twist tightly, his words choking up as he tried to coax Boris  _ close close closer _ to him:  _ Borya, hey… Borya, c’mere _ . But this time, it stuck in the center of his chest; the purgatory of his two halves. The instincts and the coached thoughts. It twisted but he felt it in his nose; a burning flash that reminded Theo of moments he’d wanted to-- or soon after  _ did _ \-- throw his hands over his face and hiccup into a harsh and ashamed fit of tears.

Theo thought his heart was breaking, but he was looking at the most fucking  _ beautiful _ man he’d ever seen. Boris’s own words changing every knotted curl and blemished scar into a decision made by God to separate the human from the art; a mistake meant to attract only those looking hard enough.

He had to think of something to say. Anything. “I’m pretty sure questioning God isn’t the same as asking me about my  _ day-- _ ”

“What if I say it is?”

Twisting twisting  _ twisting _ .

“You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t correct what I say. I am a man of my word. I speak to be spoken back to-- a man of business and concern. I ask question, I want answer.” Boris was so serious, it was startling to Theo. He leaned off his hands, ready to raise them again if needed. Maybe he should take off his glasses; less shrapnel. “You seem upset. Usually, when we are out. People around, ‘looking’ as you say. Judgement on you. But here, is just  _ us _ , but you act same way. You think  _ I _ am judgement? On  _ you _ ? No. I am not, Potter. Tolerance!”

Realistically, Theo knew Boris wasn’t judging him. How  _ could _ he? All the things Theo swallowed and refused to admit aloud-- the way he wanted to be held, kissed, laughed with, caressed, even fought with-- were somehow spoken (with their own variation) by Boris. He held no shame with communication, but he also held no shame in the recipient being another man. Theo was never sure if it was Boris’s blunt communication method or love that made him so open to Theo.

Theo wasn’t sure if he was supposed to open up and be  _ in love _ without regulation. Theo was… the  _ way  _ he was, but he wasn’t supposed to be okay with it, right? That kind of love was for people with wives and two and a half children, with dogs and barbecues, with science projects and bake sales. That wasn’t for people living in cramped apartments with their childhood first love, with muddled closets and forged authenticity certificates buried under piles of scrawled notes left to the other on counters, doors, and mirrors in the morning.

There were moments he’d feel calm, when the alarm would stop ringing inside of him, and he could relax with Boris and do what he was sure every couple did. It was hard to know for sure; every “couple” on TV never looked like one he’d wanted to be in as a kid, and now that he was there with another person, ready to  _ be _ with the other person, Theo suddenly had no idea. It must’ve been wrong. Any thought he had, conscious or not _ , had _ to be wrong.

“I’m not talking about my feelings with you.” Theo was harsh, but at himself. He took off his glasses and slipped the arm into his collar. “They’re stupid and girly  _ and-- _ ”

“We are not women, Potter. Why do you say this? Yes, women talk-- God, often talk much. Too much, sometimes-- but they also have words, no? They have the things to say-- share. Do you, yes? have things to say?”

Theo did.

“I don’t have a cover anymore.” He’d told Hobie; it was real. He was leaving home-- for the umpteenth time-- to move into a final resting place. Almost like a coffin; he’d love to die there, cradled in Boris’s arms. “I’m living with you-- another man. I can’t fast talk out of that. I can’t skew how that looks. It’s obvious now.”

Boris clenched his jaw, as if trying to catch just one sentence forming in his mouth. “This bothers you.”

_ Of course it does. Why does it not bother  _ ** _you_ ** . “Yes.”

He blinked again. He was confused. “Okay. But those are outside. You are here with me and act like, I am not one of you. Outside and in. But you act like you are outside, alone. Am I not also in house with you-- the other man with you?”

“That’s different.” Theo tensed, turning away. Boris was blurred without his glasses. He hoped the impulse would fade if he couldn’t see Boris’s wide, hovering eyes.

“So two problems?”

_ God _ ,  ** _problems_ ** . Theo was burdening Boris before he’d even sat down.

“No-- forget it. We don’t have to talk about this.” Theo sidestepped and went for the hallway. His hands were dropped and Boris grabbed one with both hands, yanking him back.

Theo wanted to shout, startled by the force but even more so unsure of its blend with intimacy. Boris didn’t grab his wrist or his arm, fingers digging in and dragging him backward. It was his hand, cradled between Boris’s calloused fingers and palms. Theo couldn’t see where he was, the walls too dark and Boris mostly the dulled frizz of his curls. The impulse was back, but only because he was scared. He just wanted Boris.

“You are hiding things from me.” Boris’s voice sounded choked back. Was he crying? No. Theo hadn’t been capable of causing heartbreak in his entire life. There was no way he could now. How could he when Boris, maybe, didn’t feel the same way--  _ I love you  _ aside. “I don’t like it. I ask you to share house with me so we can be happy. You are not happy. It makes me feel  _ straszny _ . Uck! No. I come home to see smile-- your smile, big and funny-looking. Like when we were conked out of our minds on playground, remember?”

“I was  _ so _ high every time.”

“And yet you still smile like that!” Boris argued with a wet laugh. “To me. When I… come in door and have story already happening in mouth-- cannot stop. You smile, you think I am funny sometimes. You are too. You smile when you know answers on TV or you can help people in grocery store reach for things.  _ Good _ person, smiling in good way. I wanted to see, every day, coming home and going out. All times. See you.”

The urge to vomit surfaced quickly, hip-checking Theo’s impulse to kiss Boris out of the way. The two halves of him were at war: his head going into high frequency alarm and shrieking at the promise of  _ love _ , and unconditionally at that, and his stomach twisting in that same way when Theo’s mind went blank and no words could comfort him. Only touch.

He no longer had a cover; he was… god forbid… a gay man every second of his life now. He didn’t get to leave and duck under the _Hobart & Blackwood_ sign into a benign, sexless existence where the only thing he touched was scraped and unfinished furniture. No one would ever suspect the brush of skin he’d memorized, sitting just under his fingertips as he handed over pen and proof of purchase.

And it was terrifying. It felt like Theo was hurtling himself into a high-speed chase destined for a brick wall. He was making his sins louder and more noticeable. The things he never told his parents would now be on display every time he was on the street, holding Boris’s hand or calling him something gross and sweet with other ears around. He’d never told his parents and it felt like a disgusting vandalism to their memory to act on his feelings without having told them. They’d have no way to defend their own legacy:  _ oh,  _ ** _I_ ** _ never raised him that way. That isn’t my doing _ . They’d have no chance to disown him, and Theo kept feeling like he was waiting for it to hit him.

At the same time, Theo had Boris, seemingly fully committed to having Theo folded into his life. There was no hesitation or resistance to touching Theo, or even saying in every other way  _ I love you _ . But did that mean that Theo was allowed to think it was safe. That he could throw up his hands and admit that he  _ loved _ being a domestic partner, that there weren’t any other landmines to step around. When would Boris ever laugh at Theo and tell him that he was being a  _ queer _ \-- the word unable to be recalled in Polish, but Theo knowing the tone in any language.

Boris had said it himself: he wasn’t gay. Did that mean he was disambiguated from the disgusting habits Theo had in  _ being _ a gay man. The ones that were sometimes delicate and frilly, emotional and empathetic--  _ and pathetic _ ? Was Boris walking a safer road than him; Theo shouting into the world that he was settled and in love only for Boris to just want something pretty to look at closer than an hour long rush-hour cab ride?

“You have not spoken in a while.” Boris whispered. It had easily been a minute, maybe three.

Actually, it was Theo that was heartbroken, his younger self speaking up from his childhood. Times he sat, angry and confused, screaming into his pillowcase-- the one that he’d wrapped the painting in months later-- unsure what was wrong with him. Why did his dreams look different than everyone else's? He didn’t want a  _ wife _ and the dichotomy of  _ womanhood _ in his life as a grown man. There was a feeling of sameness in every distance fogged fantasy. Not the same person, but something shared between them. Theo found it now, and his younger self was so relieved. The whole time he’d just been so fucking thankful to have found it.

“Boris,” Theo sighed, chest heaving. His inner child was finally shedding a tear but he couldn’t let a single one fall down his own cheek. No, he was  _ not _ a hysterical wife.

“Yes? Am listening, what?” Boris spoke softly and with patience. Theo was still waiting for the strike, from Hobie or even some past memory of his father. He  _ was _ bad, a rotten kid that couldn’t seem to dream like everyone else.

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” Theo suffocated the crying child heaving beneath his bones; pressed his head against the pillow. He wasn’t finished feeling disjointed; he still deserved it.

That boy, screaming up at the abandoned stars in the sky was still an orphan, and always would be. Even when he had both his parents, the real person inside of him wasn’t being raised or even acknowledged. The inner child that had his hand resting over the alarm lever, ready at any moment, had never spoken to his mother. Definitely never his father. He’d stitched his own mouth closed after a while, and Theo wasn’t sure what would come spilling out if he cut the thread.

It was better to keep it all quiet until absolutely necessary. He had that kind of time.

**ii.**

On a short run for cigarettes-- Boris’s specific brand that wasn’t at the corner store, but another one, two blocks over-- Boris all but proposed. At least that’s how it felt to Theo, high strung and aware of how his and Boris’s appearances were blending together. They looked like roommates, but maybe-- just  _ maybe _ \-- the waves of Theo’s hair able to be fit perfectly against the shape of Boris’s long, winding fingers.

As usual, they didn’t speak in the hallways on the way downstairs. The hallways were silent which Theo took to mean someone was listening. Silence never meant absence.

He was still in Boris’s shirt, his pants changed out for a pair of jeans he couldn’t remember when or where he bought them, but knowing they’d look at least somewhat decent under his wool coat. He hated that his appearance mattered. Like, if he was going to go out looking gay (with Boris that is), he had to  _ look _ gay too. Self-fulfilling prophecy.

“City is so beautiful close to Christmas, no?” Boris held his arms out, displaying the city to Theo. It was hard, though, to look at anything but Boris.

To avoid eye contact with anyone in the building, Theo had polished his glasses with his sleeve. Since coming back into focus and clarity, Theo couldn’t help but study every one of the Mysterious Painter’s choices with Boris’s face. Art in a desert statue garden.

“Yeah. The city.”

“We should have Christmas dinner again. Like time in Vegas with your father.” Boris said offhandedly, nodding to his own genius. Theo wasn’t sure if Boris was chasing intimacy or nostalgia. He still hadn’t asked. “Yes; we sit down and eat. Somewhere with music in background-- like in those movies. When the camera is real close to faces and lighting is always dim-- and table cloth red! Like woman’s dress.”

There would be no women on their date. But Theo’s Henley was a dark maroon.

“Sure, that’d be nice. Exchanging gifts by candlelight.” Theo had seen the scene on every silver screen and static television set, but never with two men. Never between two un-caught criminals in high class Manhattan society.

“Gift!” Boris stopped in his tracks and slapped his hands against his pockets. “Key!”

“Boris, you don’t have to worry. I don’t mind waiting for--”

As if a velvet ring box, Boris held up a small manila envelope between them:  _ Pavlikovsky _ ,  _ duplicate spare _ .

Theo took the envelope slowly, unfolding the brass fasteners and letting the shined brass key fall into his hand. Even in the winter chill, his palm began sweating, the slick metallic film feeling familiar to long nights sitting wrapped up in their rusty swing set.

It really could have been a ring between them, and maybe it was. Neither would bother to ask or even imply. It was a mere state of fact now: whatever was Boris’s now belonged to Theo. Maybe it was another repayment of sorts, for all that time in Las Vegas spent cramming every bit of Boris into the new life Theo had packed too tightly against his ideals of his old one. Or maybe it was something new, an entirely new life that had neither existing on one side and reaching the other. Both were standing side by side and facing the same consequences and confusion head on-- no matter what it could be.

“It’s real now, huh?” Theo muttered, flopping the key over in his palm. “You’re stuck with me.”

“Stuck?” Boris echoed, the ending consonant hitting hard in the back of his throat. “I do not think  _ key _ is the reason you are stuck with me, Potter. Far worse-- and better-- things have happened.”

“Ah, and here I thought you loved me.” Theo sighed to himself, stuffing the key into his pocket.  _ No! Just murder. _

“What did you say?” Boris leaned forward, cupping his ear. “Speak again.”

“Nothing! I didn’t say anything. Let’s go. It’s cold out.” Theo waved the word away--  _ love _ \-- as if it was a cloud of smoke from a cigarette and he was trying to protect Boris from inhaling secondhand.

**iii.**

Of all the sounds to hear upon entering the apartment, Theo never expected  _ gagging _ to be one of them. He’d become fully prepared for the prospect of  _ moaning _ or un-agonized  _ screaming _ echoing from the back of the apartment but never gagging, coming clearly and closely, from the kitchen.

“Boris?” Theo dropped his keys by the door-- where his muscle memory remembered Hobie usual had a bowl. They clattered on the ground, Theo accidentally kicking them as he went for the kitchen.

He rounded the corner to see Boris crouching in front of the trash can, pulled out from under the sink. He was still fully dressed: heavy boots and long coat, jeans and pressed shirt. He sat with his legs stretched out around the short plastic tub, his forehead resting on the opposite edge and wrists crossed as they stretched out on the top rim.

“Boris, what happened!” Theo fell to his knees in front of him, his joints cracking.

“Ate something bad.” Boris grumbled, coughing. “Had lunch with boys-- poor, poor decision. Am okay.”

“Jesus, Boris. How long have you been here?” Theo placed his hand on either side of the can, not touching him. “Should I get help?”

“No. No! Am fine. Got back about fifteen--” Boris lurched forward and coughed violently. Theo averted his eyes despite having seen just about the worst of Boris. He provided him with some privacy and maybe some dignity.

"Oh my god. Boris, god. Are you okay?" Theo placed a gentle hand on his back. He could feel his muscles tensing and moving harshly, even over his clothes. It was nothing like feeling it slip fluidity across his hands, warm skin pressing together. It was a reminder that things could always be bad.

"Am fine, promise. Really."

Boris lifted his head and spit up slowly. Stringy gobs of  _ red _ hung low on his lips and discolored them. Theo knew Boris’s typical Thai food order-- tomato based and unfamiliarly delicious-- but in Theo’s flash of panic, it looked more sinister.

Suddenly, they were both no longer grown men, sharing their house and illness together. They were two scared teenage boys, nursing wounds in the only house with running water, and waiting to hear when someone would be home.

One scarring afternoon, Theo had been in the same spot, hovering beside Boris who was hugging a trash can, and watching him spit up clot after clot of blood. They didn’t know if he’d lost a tooth or if he’d just ripped open his gums on his father’s ring-- or bit something in his mouth. There were too many possibilities and even more blood.

Boris had cried then, leaving Theo completely disarmed and confused. He’d never seen a man cry before-- he considered Boris  _ a man _ back then, strictly because of his fearlessness. Sure, by that point, both he and Boris had committed the ultimate conjoined sin-- gripping each other tightly in fleeting moments of peaked pleasure and valleys of terror-- and he was well aware that Boris might have been  _ like him _ . Not the same way, sure, but he was another man that could look into Theo’s eyes and keep contact as Theo’s eyes flickered into the back of his head, mouth dropping open. Boris was at least adjacent to Theo, and he was crying without any shame.

_ Fuck fuck  _ ** _fuck_ ** _ . _

_ W-What can I do, Boris? _

_ Nothing. Nothing to do. Just-- why not  _ ** _stop_ ** _ ? _

_ Should we call someone? _

_ No! No we can’t. Cannot call cops. It will stop soon _ .  _ Has to. Not enough blood _ .

Theo sat by him while Boris hiccuped and hacked up loogies and streams of blood. He studied him, finding that the matted curls on the back of his head were glued together with blood and the bridge of his nose looked swollen from the bent angle, a dark tinge growing up from underneath.

Not soon after, Theo’s father struck him. It was like he’d gotten the idea from seeing the accidental drops of blood left in the kitchen. Theo knew the two were not related, knew that Boris had survived his own horrors, but there was a link forever put in his mind. Dominoes: when one fell forward, the other would have to fall back.

Theo sat with Boris as he vomited, and felt an arm, somewhere, cock backwards. He still couldn’t find where it was coming from or who would wield the punishment, but he felt followed. It was only a matter of time.

**iv.**

It was a surprisingly long day of clerical work at Hobie’s shop and Theo came home with several cricks in his neck and knots in his shoulders. He had been hunched over his desk, fingers pressing on either side of the bridge of his nose, scribbling and backlogging sales. He left at five o’clock sharp and not a minute after.

He’d expected his night to end eating dinner on the couch-- whatever was left in the fridge at that point in the week-- maybe with away Boris in their bed, or possibly beside him depending on the time. Instead, he tripped going up the stairs and banged his shin, clocked his head against an open door of a cabinet while trying to heat up dinner, and caught his toe on the coffee table as he sat down.

Theo was annoyed and mostly hurting. Boris, naturally, not even thirty seconds after he came home-- uncharacteristically late, but what  _ was _ late with Boris’s job-- noticed Theo’s sour disposition. Before even kicking off his shoes, he was climbing onto their bed and prodding Theo with questions.

After some verbal coaxing, Boris was sitting against the headboard and trying to untie all the knots in Theo’s back. Boris’s hands were not meant for the delicate care of massages, and was mostly just rubbing his back as if he was trying to warm him up. His posture was still wonky but it was helpful in other ways.

Before Theo could even catch himself,  _ Borya _ had stumbled past his lips and practically out into his hands. Boris’s lips pressed against the back of Theo’s neck, hesitantly and experimentally. It was a question that Theo had to silently answer, his needs still not comfortable enough to be heard. He leaned back, letting Boris’s arms slip around his waist and secure them together.

Not long after, Theo couldn’t even remember what was hurting him so badly. He couldn’t focus on anything but his starry-eyed vision, and that of Boris’s eyes looking right back at him. Theo swore he could see the spots in Boris’s visions with him, both clambering for the other and with no coherent words.

Theo was scared that night. He didn’t know why, couldn’t name it even if he tried, but that night every force lifting his hands over Boris’s back or through his hair felt wrongfully charged. He felt like he was asking too much of Boris; he was a clumsy and inexperienced mess that no one should ever have the patience for.

In moments of deep panic, he forgot that Boris was the man he felt the closest too, and instead because the conceptual Man on the Other Side of sex. The person whose thoughts he couldn’t hear, but had to anticipate or order to not ruin  _ his _ good time. Which just meant Theo was rigid and uncomfortable because he wasn’t sure what he was allowed to enjoy.

That night, Theo wasn’t so much completely lost in panic, but bordering on anxious numbness. He hated how much he wanted to speak-- say something, God  _ anything _ to Boris to tell him what he was feeling-- and kept waiting for one of the hands grabbing him to be violent. For someone to remind him he was being a disappointment. That his tongue would turn black with the multitude of sins coerced, convinced, and coaxed out of it.

“Theo, you are so good. Incredible to me.” Boris sounded like he was high, faded out of his mind and breathing like he was light-headed; heavy but airy. He was propped against the headboard still, Theo now correctly facing him. Theo kept his glasses on in the impossibly dim lighting of the falling evening and could see the shadowed lines in Boris’s face change as he pinched his eyebrows together.

His hand moved to rest on Theo’s shoulder just as Theo went to readjust, shifting his weight and balance on Boris. In their dark and blinded state, they fumbled and missed each other; Boris’s hand not landing on Theo at all, and instead scraping down the front of his chest.

It didn’t draw blood, didn’t even  _ hurt _ that badly, but for some reason Theo was struck frantic and frozen. It was just enough of a swipe-- like a missed punch-- for Theo to think only of his impending punishment. Hobie didn’t, his father couldn’t, but oh  _ god _ maybe Boris would.

“D-Don’t.” Theo hissed, pushing himself away from Boris. “I-I’m sorry.”

“What? You are sorry why? What happen? Are you okay?” Boris couldn’t find Theo in the dark, and Theo almost didn’t want him to. His nose was burning and his hands were trembling as he scrambled for the bed sheets at the end of their bed.

“I- Yeah.” He said, trying to steady the wobble in his voice. “You scraped me.”

“Scrape? With fingers-- is that what this is about? Oh, no. Theo, no, I did not mean-- Am so sorry. Let me find you. Where are you, Theo?” Boris was in a calmer frenzy of his own as he moved down the bed, hands careful in finding Theo. “Where? Where is it?”

“N-No, it’s nothing. It’s not that big of a deal. I’m just stupidly--”

“No, let me see.” Boris brought his eyes close to Theo’s shoulder, his fingers ghosting over his chest. He was trying to find where he’d left a mark.

The marks were barely raised, the skin just irritated. There weren’t three long, peeling tracks where Boris had clawed his way past Theo’s guard. No, it was just a little scratched. It’d fade before they could even turned the light on.

“I-It’s fine, Boris. I’m sorry. We can go back to--”

Boris placed his lips over the skin, placing a kiss where his fingers had been. It was delicate, and unnervingly so. Theo went still, his hand finding Boris’s back as he hunched over, kissing Theo’s shoulder and chest. His hand splayed open between Boris’s shoulders, feeling him twist and glide under his fingers. It was calming, like what he imagined standing at the edge of the ocean felt like. The nudge of the shore at his feet-- the pulse of Boris’s heart somewhere distantly nudging his fingertips. His sighs like the breathing of the ocean.

“I am so sorry, Theo. Am so sorry.” Boris said, grabbing Theo tightly and pulling him against his chest.

Theo was delighted, but nonetheless surprised by the sudden embrace. He rested his chin on Boris’s shoulder, beginning to laugh, if only to soothe his own discomfort about how strange their sticky bodies felt pressed together. Theo wiped a bead of sweat from Boris’s hairline before resting his hand against the back of his head. Boris did the same, smoothing down Theo’s hair.

“You are okay?”

“Y-Yeah. I think so.” Theo nodded. The knots had returned in his back, but that tension wasn’t going anywhere. He knew he was safe in Boris’s arms. There was no waiting punch, at least not then. Theo had time. He could wait it out. Maybe this time he’d see it coming.

Boris moved to kiss Theo, but Theo’s bottom lip quivered too much to manage.

“I’m sorry.” Theo ducked his head and pulled at the sheets again. “I think I just want to go to sleep.”

“Okay.” Boris shifted and fell to sit back on the mattress. “Okay, Theo. We sit-- we lay and sleep.”

“I’m sorry.” He looked at Boris, able to catch him in the stripe of light from a crack in the door behind Theo. Theo looked at all of him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened-- I- I, uh…” Theo’s trance had been broken and he became aware of his own body-- and Boris’s-- too quickly. “I can help you--” The words were the first of the sort to come past Theo’s lips and they felt thick as blood; a rejected poison. It wasn’t sincere, but rather said in a panic of  _ putting things back  _ before he’d ruined them. The things that had been  _ fine _ \-- at least in motion only-- when they were younger, and Theo could close his eyes and feel the entire room spinning in waves around him.

Boris pushed Theo’s hand away, cupping it in his own. “No. You say no: we sleep. Always go back to sleep after nightmare.”

**v.**

Only the shifting shadows of the blinds from passing cars, moved in the bedroom. Theo laid with his pillow half tucked under his head and half gripped close to his chest. Boris’s hand rested against his chest, playing with the edge of the pillowcase, and his arm stretched over his waist. His chest still heaved unnaturally-- it had been easily half an hour since they’d stopped moving around, not even their feet rubbing together like two illiterate children trying to assure the other of comfort.

Finally though, Boris spoke-- tried to speak; his voice was thick and his words dropped off before he gained control of them.

“What was that, Boris?” Theo turned his head, as if he could see him.

“Lied to you, Potter.”

“About what?” Theo wasn’t alarmed, although he didn’t love the idea of Boris talking about untruths while he had his arm around him, both naked and completely vulnerable.

“The car-- parking lot. Did not happen like that.” Boris said. His hand flattened and rested only across Theo’s chest. His fingers traced the scrape again.

“Wait, are you-- Are you talking about losing your virginity?” Theo was officially blindsided, trying to twist around in Boris’s arms. He was kept forcibly still, unable to flip around. Boris didn’t even want the concept of Theo to be looking at him. Theo wondered how many eyes Boris thought he had on him at any one moment.

“Nine  _ dolec _ … and  _ lizak _ . Lime flavor. Was green.” He spoke softly, the words trying to get lost between his lips and Theo’s ears. They had no chance. “I was so hungry and had nothing. Was asked if I knew how...  _ być dobrym, Boris _ …”

“...Boris, oh my god.” Theo grabbed his hand carefully. They felt cold, like the numbness he’d laid over the memories had finally real a critical point.

“Did not understand. Was sure was going to die-- felt awful and like… death. There was time I thought something will stop working. Heart, lungs, my arms. Would end up corpse, only eyes moving as laid on floor.”

“Boris, I’m so sorry.” Theo pulled his hand up to his mouth, pressing his lips against Boris’s knuckles. A return of an old favor, once done long ago. A reaffirming of unions forged in blood, now just in touch alone. “You don’t deserve to carry that around--”

“Does not bother me anymore.” Boris was not convinced, even by himself. Theo didn’t argue and let him pretend. “I have someone who touches with heart. Not just hands.”

It was unfair-- if Theo could even try to approach the word-- that Boris had such a traumatic first cut of a longer ongoing scar. Theo, while still horrified with  _ himself _ in having sex in the first place, had no regrets after the first time. He was with Boris-- trusted the boy he was with and when he said that it would all  _ be okay. will not be bad-- not harmful. will feel good _ \-- and had been kept safe the entire time. The bed was uneven and rickety, the sheets were weeks due of a washing, and the painting still hung behind the frame like an altar for their sins.

_ Are you scared _ was never a challenge to Theo, not meant to insight panic as he took deep, heavy breaths in-- trying to get his stomach to stop twisting and rising. It was blood-curdling to think that Boris had asked Theo because he, himself had never gotten that chance; never got to admit at any of his lowest and most vulnerable points that he was scared. That he wanted to stop.

That entire afternoon in Vegas-- not even  _ night _ , because the thought of not being completely and utterly knocked out and snoring by the time the long, desperate hours of night rolled around was another level of horrored intimacy-- Boris was sure, but unsteady. He questioned Theo’s answer--  _ yeah, no. I’ll be okay, Boris _ \-- to know when he  _ was _ okay. His hands gripped Theo’s shoulders tightly, squeezing them with his blunt fingernails, only to quickly release them in more of a panic than a sunburst of white behind his glazed over eyes. Even after, Theo moved over to lay back on his own side of the bed, empty but in somehow the most thrilling and daring way he knew how. Boris though moved around the room like a timid animal, shying away from the light. It was dusk and he tucked himself under the covers beside Theo as if he was hiding from the moon.

Back then, so much of Theo’s evening derailment had to do with worrying about anyone labeling the last two hours of his life as disgusting and undesirable. He’d be cast out, mocked and ridiculed. The  _ label _ , the admission that Theo laid out on his bed and nodded and agreed and panted and squirmed and twitched and enjoyed it, was enough to keep Theo awake all night. He’d known the word for a very long time, constantly trying to check the “new” definitions he’d heard at school against it, until finally deciding that all the definitions were moot: it was just  _ him _ .

But what was that line of thought like for Boris? There was no label to assign when his first brush with any kind of interpersonal relationships was for money-- out of  _ survival _ . Boris’s first sexual experience, first off, wasn’t even  _ gay _ \-- as Theo could hear those fucking eighth graders spitting-- it was assault. It was illegal and terrible. It was wrong, but truly so. Boris had to carry that weight, and know that it was true, for years-- assuming of course he could even put the weight down after telling Theo.

There was a complexity, sure, to how Boris considered just about anything in the world that a straight-forward answer was the most convient for, but suddenly Theo panicking about his appearance as a gay man in public seemed so infantile. Theo was terrified of showing off his status (and now, lack thereof) while Boris was thrilled to be displaying his garnered and trusted intimacy. He was being touched with the intent of being heard, not felt.

Theo had never felt more blind. It was like another explosion had gone off-- another set of bullets in a closed off room-- muffling Theo’s ears. Every quiet sound fell under the radar and only the loud, beating sounds of Theo’s heart and his fumbled words were audible.

“Boris, I-- I don’t know what to say.” Theo admitted. He finally turned over, Boris’s hands going almost completely slack and limp over him. Theo felt around for Boris’s face, his fingers bracketing his ears and tangling in his hair. “What can I say-- tell me. I want to help.”

“No pity. I survive-- do not pity me.”

“No, I don’t-- of course I don’t. But why didn’t you say something?”

“Why did I lie?” Boris rephrased Theo’s blame and he realized the answer was immaterial. “You think I tell you-- child from beautiful New York, still startled when I turn on faucet in house and  _ nothing _ come out, scared of own shadow but will storm into street if cars thought to be there-- tell you about fucking grown men for their wallets? You think I want to tell boy this? Tell you? Best friend? No. Too dark for friendship.” Boris shifted, his hands rubbing Theo’s back. “But I can tell you now. Safe to share.  _ Know  _ what you are worried about. Understand  _ stop, no, want sleep _ . Can tell roommate-- my man.”

“Your man?” Theo repeated. He traced Boris’s brow bone with his thumb, feeling his scar gently.

“Ack, what is English word?”

“No. No, I like that.” He said. “Your man.”

Theo carefully guided his hands down Boris’s face and to his chest. The tactile outline allowed Theo to tuck his head under Boris’s chin without knocking loose any teeth. Boris’s heart was inaudible, but Theo liked to think he knew how fast it was racing; pounding against his rib cage and rattling him marrow-deep. Theo placed a hand over Boris’s chest, as if hushing it:  _ shhh Borya, is only me _ .

**vi.**

Theo was winded as he came into the apartment. He juggled his bags and keys into one hand as he started slipping his other arm out of his coat. Boris was standing just in view of the foyer, having stood up at the sound of the lock turning, gracelessly eating mixed nuts out of the tin.

“Hey, have you eaten today?” Theo asked, still out of breath. He switched his bags to his other hand and shrugged off his coat. He met Boris by the couch and threw it over the back.

“Eat _ ing _ .” Boris said, emphasizing the active part of his response with a crunch of his food.

“Yeah, I see that. But what about a real meal?” Theo said. Boris blinked at him; a foreign concept even at twenty-four. “Put that down, I’m cooking.”

“Am eating just fine.” Boris objected, furrowing his eyebrows. He sounded defensive, even in his laugh. A teenage boy not wishing to be told his malnutrition was somehow his own misdoings; it wasn’t a matter of him making wrong choices, it was the world being wrong in its choices for him.

“I have something better.” Theo couldn’t help but grin, his cheeks beginning to hurt. He hadn’t been able to stop since walking out of the grocery store, rushing home with all but _it’s for my boyfriend-- my _**_man_** darting from his lips for any person that cast a confused glance at him.

It felt like Theo hadn’t smiled alone in months. With Boris, there was a safety in being happy-- that it wasn’t fabricated or foolish. But alone, Theo had to own up to the things he was happy about. They only existed for him.

“Have what? You look up to no good.” Boris placed the tin on their wonky, stained coffee table and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Do you remember that really off-brand macaroni we used to eat? Two boxes in one  _ too _ small pot? We’d pass it back and forth and watch weird B horror films?” Theo waved his one hand out, trying to get his words to come out faster-- despite already being lightning speed-- if it meant he could breathe again quicker.

“Remember, yes. Cheese like chalk.” Boris cocked his head, his curls flopping to one side. “Why?”

“Guess what they had on sale on the endcap while I was trying to get you another lighter-- speaking of which, here.” Theo pulled the plastic blue lighter out of the bag and held it out to Boris. He leaned over the couch to put it, almost directly, in Boris’s pocket.

Boris didn’t respond, only taking the lighter from Theo’s hand graciously but quickly and stuffing it in his back pocket. He still had his pack sitting on the table from the other day. Theo could smell the smoke hanging in the air, and could still feel the urge to tell Boris he loved him again.

“No good?” Theo said, lowering the bag by his side. His smile fell. It was hard to smile alone, he was figuring out.

“No, is good. But why?”

“I saw it and I thought of Vegas-- and before you’d mentioned dinner with my dad. And well, we went out after trying to cook! Maybe we can cook again, just, no stealing.”

“But that’s half the fun, Potter!” Boris laughed, kneeling on the couch to grab Theo by the arms. “Taking what you need to save what you don’t have? Is Christmas spirit!”

“Yeah, well, I spent two ninety-three and got two boxes of the worst mac and cheese we’ve ever eaten, and I’m about to make it right now, still in my work clothes.” Theo said shaking his head as he leaned closer to Boris, tantalizing him. He felt like a child, fifteen all over again. “Are you gonna eat it or not?”

“Do I have choice?” Boris asked, although he was reaching for the bag.

“No.”

“Okay. Let us go!” He impishly raced away to the kitchen. “Quick! Before parents get back!”

**vii.**

“You are in good mood today, Potter.” Boris elected to not help Theo cook at all, sitting on the counter and watching. It wasn’t much cooking though; already the definition of  _ too many cooks _ . “What happen?”

“Nothing, just… having one of those days.” Theo shrugged, placing the hand towel down on the counter by Boris's legs.

"When is last you have one of such days? While, yes? What is new? Tell me! Want to know!" Boris crossed his arms and looked at Theo. He was playfully suspicious. “Hmmm, Potter. What secrets do you hide from me.”

“What?” Theo laughed, stirring the noodles and growing fondly disgusted at the toxic yellow cheese. “I’m not hiding anything. I’m just happy.”

“Happy.” Boris repeated. He motioned to the stove quickly, giving Theo privacy for his moment. “And with food! All a man could ever need!”

_ Not just a man _ , Theo thought, still stirring.  _ Your man _ .

**viii.**

After dinner, and with the empty cooking pot still resting on the coffee table, Theo got out some word orders and purchasing slips to prepare for the coming week. He had his folders and legal pad resting on his lap, until a restless Boris placed his legs on top of it.

“You work too much, Potter. Just sit with me.”

"I don't work too much. I'm just finishing something for Hobie." Theo said, nudging Boris's legs.

"Do not do him any favors."

"Excuse me?"

"Favors. Ask to forgive you? Do not do it. You have not done anything wrong to need to work over the time." Boris said, shimmying his legs back over Theo's folder. "He is happy you left! He would be thrilled to know you did not do work and instead, sat with me and watched TV. Sat and were person! Have life! You are young and he would love to know you have figured that out!"

"Have a life?" Theo placed his hands on Boris's calves and yanked on them, short and with enough of a smile to get Boris laughing. "Are you saying I'm  _ boring _ or something? God my  _ own  _ boyf--" Theo let the word die under Boris's squawk of laughter as he slid down on the couch. "My own man thinks I'm boring? What a fucking insult."

"I said no such thing!" Boris argued, almost pleading as he continued laughing. Theo kept tugging on his legs, his hands practically resting on Boris's knees then.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure you did." Theo said, squinting at Boris through his glasses. "I'm a boring old man already. Trying to do work while you’re impatiently just…  _ draping _ yourself around the house."

"Am just trying to get comfortable!" Boris sat up and grabbed Theo's shoulders, keeping him as he moved to sit on Theo's lap. His papers were completely crumpled by then.

They were fooling around like they did when they were teenagers, and Theo could feel that child in him relieved to see that side of Boris again too. He wasn't left to be alone in his forgotten youth. Their hands grabbed at each other in a way that was familiar and safe. Theo didn't think twice about wrapping his arms around Boris and jostling him with a lopsided smile. He was bigger than he had been then, they both were, so moving Boris was a far easier task.

"Potter! He has got muscles now! Strong man!" Boris teased, letting Theo heave him around. His grip was firm on Theo’s arms, but in no way panicked. They were back at square one; the world they shared without any fear or injury. That first time they’d left it all outside Theo’s room. “Ack, Potter, I--" Boris's high-strung rebuttal was silenced as Theo leaned in to kiss him.

It was the first time he'd really done it without any preamble. With only the assurance that he'd wanted to do it; the impulse whispering quietly in the hum of his bones. Boris stopped laughing. It wasn't funny, that harrowing silence their younger selves felt suddenly kissing and doing the one thing they knew,  _ more  _ than any of the drugs, that they shouldn't have been doing.

"Sorry." Theo breathed, pulling back. Boris was still stunned, trying to hold Theo's face loosely, hands falling to his neck.

"You kiss me, Potter."

"I did. I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me I should not have--"

"No. No. Apologies not needed. Was fine-- I am surprised, that is all." Boris assured him with a familiar kindness:

_ Don’t be scared. Is just me. You know me, Potter. _

And for once, Theo didn't feel like he had to be. His hands were run by comfort, a steady joy thrumming against his palms. There was no impulse to turn away, to remind himself what he should be wanting. Everything felt quiet, even when Boris kept talking, playfully pecking at Theo's cheek. The alarm, the constant ringing, seemed to have tired itself out.

Turns out, it just needed an updated model.

**ix.**

It was a common question that Theo never really  _ needed  _ to ask, but used as a polite invitation to get Boris out of the apartment with him:

_ Are you hungry? _

There were very few times Boris rejected the request-- rejected Theo-- and remained hungry and in the apartment. Often times, as Theo was grabbing his coat, Boris would stand from the table or the couch and just silently come along. It was one less thing he’d have to admit aloud: wanting company, even if it was just to go out for a bite, a pack of cigarettes, or the bank.

Admittedly, in the early weeks of December, Theo humored the idea of letting Boris hold his hand on the sidewalk. It was an impulse that made Theo's bones tremble and mouth run stale with sticky, thick guilt. It was an action that made his stomach flush with warmth and his cheeks blush to fight the cold.

“Where do we eat?” Boris asked, hands digging deep into his coat pockets.

“Uh, I’m not actually sure. You can pick. I just wanted to get out of the apartment.”

For most of the day, Theo had been quartered up in their room. He hadn’t gone to work, citing some indescribable hitch in his chest that would happen every time he thought about walking down to Hobie’s shop. He probably sounded like he was having a heart attack-- and maybe, simply, he was-- but it was more unnerving than a racing heart. Theo was sure it was a sign, one he could  _ finally _ sense coming. And he thought, once it went away, he’d be clear to leave. To do something other than sit and worry.

Boris dwelled on his answer for only a moment. “I know place. Go this way.”

Boris seized Theo’s hand, once again holding one of his with both of his own. Theo went to tug his hand away, but found all his energy struck away by a single word, spoken incredulously, only a storefront away.

“ _ Theodore _ ?”

In a matter of seconds, Theo wished he had kept his senses about him and stayed in the apartment-- and firmly in the closet. Doors shut with the lights off, unable to even see Boris in the shadows. Sometimes, in all literal senses, it was the  _ only  _ way he could live in that apartment. He should’ve asked Boris to close all the blinds and turn off all the lights and shut out all the other input frying Theo’s brain. But no, he’d faked enough confidence to leave that day. And he lost track of how many eyes were on him.

It was Henri Lucey, one of Theo’s more illustriously pretentious clients, looking quite obviously at Boris’s hands on Theo’s.

“Uh, hi, Henri.” Theo coughed. He dropped the weight supporting his arm, but Boris’s grip kept it raised. “W-What are you doing here?”

“There’s a florist a street over.” He said, pointing but not looking away. “I’m getting an arrangement for an open house.”

“Oh.” Theo said stiffly. They already held the tone of voice that alluded to ignorance toward an elephant barging in the room. “That’s nice.”

“Yeah.”

“Hm.”

“Name is Boris, by the way. In case you weren’t going to acknowledge me.” Boris said, holding out his  _ other _ hand to Henri. His other stayed with Theo’s.  _ Oh, he’s going to play this game to win, isn’t he? _

“Right, sorry. Henri, this is Boris. Boris, I’ve spoken about Henri I’m sure. He’s in the shop often.” Already, Theo gave Boris the position of the inside; having more information than Henri possibly thought he had on them.

“Ah, pleasure.” It was obvious he was unsure what to make of Boris. Most people didn’t. It was sort of gratifying to Theo, having understanding over everyone else who met Boris. Theo knew best.

“You buy a lot of  _ very  _ expensive furniture-- I do not understand it all the way, but it is a business, yes? Lots to know. I do not, but it is good to meet the man.” There was a  _ less  _ than two percent chance Boris remembered hearing about the exact pieces Theo had recently sold to Henri. The older man had believed his own hype about a set of pieces and bought all four of them within thirty-six hours of each other.

Henri had called Theo’s cell a few days prior, somehow rather than the shop number, to tell him to keep the last two pieces to the side until he could come in the following week. Theo had answered said call-- after the fifth callback-- half sprawled out on the bed, and with his head half covered by the sheet laying over him. Well, it was laying on Boris who was laying over him. Needless to gather, Boris definitely remembered the man, but definitely not what nonsense he wanted from Theo that night.

“What do you do, Mister, uh… Boris.” It sounded like Henri was trying to gap the language barrier, despite there obviously being none. Theo couldn’t figure if it was Boris’s appearance-- those pronounced strokes of the brush-- that was causing his unfamiliarity with conversation, or the fact Boris was still touching Theo.

“Uh, trading.” Boris said, a wry smile twisting his lips.

“Oh. Stocks?” Henri sounded surprised. “You don’t look like a Wall Street man.”

“And you do not look like man who can spend fifty thousand on chair but! Looks can be deceiving, no?”

“Boris helps me with business expenses-- he is very good with money!” Theo cut in, quickly shaking their gripped hands-- as if they were making a deal. “Thank you, Mister Pavlikovsky. I’ll get all that work over to you as soon as--”

“Are you two partners?” Henri watched their hands separate with irritating satisfaction. He nodded slowly.

“Excuse me.” Theo choked, tilting his ear closer to Henri.

“Business partners. Does he have any shares in your company-- or work?”

“Oh! No. No, Mister Pavlikovsky does not work with us that, uh, intimately.” Beside Theo, Boris snorted out a quiet laugh, trying to pass it off as a sneeze.

“Something funny?” Henri said, catching Boris’s wide smile. Boris hadn’t lifted his hand up fast enough; it was instigating, Theo had to admit. When they were younger, if Boris was smiling at a joke you weren’t in on, there was a hair-lifting feeling he knew something over you. And with a man as fast and quick-witted as Boris, it was always alarming.

“No.” Boris said, smirking. “Nothing funny. Nothing.”

“The florist closes soon. I should be going.” Henri digressed from Boris and turned back to Theo. “It was nice to see you, Theodore. Informative.”

“Good to see you too, Mister Lucey. I’ll see you for those pieces soon.”

“Hm. Yes.” He was already walking away.

Theo watched Henri leave them, growing small in the crosswalk foot traffic. Henri was more than aware that Theo was watching him, but the power was still in his hands. Theo could stare all he wanted, hoping he’d turn around and look at him and Boris-- hands apart-- but he was leaving with an image of Theo he could never change. It was permanent, carved across Theo’s glasses; a scratch he couldn’t see past.

As a jolt to his system, Boris let out a loud, choppy laugh. He bent over and braced his weight over his knees. Theo stood dumbly in front of him, staring silently as if he’d forgotten what laughter was. His arms hung limply in his wool coat, his sophistication attempt failing with a look of haunted shock. Boris wiped his eye, apparently having burst into joyful hysterics, and stood upright.

“What.” Theo said, blinking. “What is so funny?”

“You!” Boris grinned. He clapped Theo gently on both sides of his face. “ _ Mister Pavlikovsky _ . Who is that? Not me. I am not a  _ Mister _ . So formal, Potter! What does he need to care for?”

“He’s spending a lot of money, Boris. I’d like to keep him happy.” Theo thought he was going to push Boris’s hands away, but the comfort of hanging his hands on Boris’s wrists caught him by surprise.

“Why does it matter if he sees you with man? Money has bought a lot worse things.” Boris said. “It is furniture for his house! Not place in  _ ours _ .”

_ Our house _ .

Theo made no motion to acknowledge Boris’s words. He cleared his throat and shook his head.

“You don’t understand, Boris. It  _ matters _ .” He sighed. “It fucking matters. No one will buy from a fucking--” He bit his tongue and blinked at Boris, hoping that one of the four languages he spoke could fill in for Theo. “It matters.”

Boris smirked, but it was probably because concern was unable to form in his brows so soon after laughing  _ at _ Theo. “It matters  _ very _ much to you what people think, yes?”

“If I say yes, are you going to mock me?” Theo gritted.

“No.” Boris said, turning his hands to take Theo’s. “Helps no one-- come on. All that laughing, am starving.”

“I don’t have a good feeling about him.” Theo said, following Boris as he started walking backwards with his hands in tow. “I really don’t.”

“He is not coming with us, yes?” Boris said, still pulling his hands with dramatic effort. “No! He is no one! Buying flowers for  _ house _ ! Not even  _ person _ ! He is no one, Potter. A boring man-- God, I could sleep if he spoke longer. And look, he is already gone! Bye-bye-- down the street!”

“I guess.”

“Believe me! Am not wrong, usually.”

Annoyingly, Boris was right even in  _ that  _ statement. “Okay.”

“Your man is very smart. Knows little about many things.” Boris laughed, holding their hands up in the air. “Including where we will eat tonight! Believe me, is good.”

**x.**

"Promise you, place is good. Not much to look at, but is wonderful." Boris grinned, tapping his fingers on the diner table.

"Oh, kind of like me?" Theo teased, fixing his glasses.

"Potter! You are plenty to look at-- like very large building."

"A  _ what _ ?" Theo laughed, his mouth twisting into a smile. Flirting over language metaphors was by far the most amusing part of Theo’s new life. It made him feel safe; so many things in the world were confusing and disordered, it wasn’t just him that was mixed up.

"The paintings! Building ones!"

"A mural?" Theo offered. “I’m a…  _ mural _ ?”

"Mural! Yes! Big and usually so bright. Can not look away! So many things to notice and see and love--"

"God, Boris, stop."

"Are you embarass? I talk about you? Compare you to art! Highest compliment! Most beautiful piece."

"You're already buying me dinner, you don't have to butter me up too."

"Butter up." Boris echoed, eyebrows furrowed. He lifted both closed fists by his side, stacked together and looking ready to swing.

"No, not  _ batter up _ . Butter up. Overly compliment. Really laying it on thick."

"Made better, then worse again." Boris said, placing his hands back on the table. They rested unnaturally far out, nearly touching Theo's paper menu. "Lie on butter, thick, yes?"

"Sure. If that's what you want."

Theo's smile felt full again. His chest still felt tight, warning him, but it was at least a low hum by then: the ringing in his ears rather than the ringing itself.

The waiter returned with their drinks despite neither of them having spoken a word to him yet. Boris had held up a finger as they walked in, commanding in silence. It, in the strangest way, made Theo feel like they really were  _ something _ . The entire restaurant seemed to know Boris, or at least his figure as it strolled down to their booth, and gave nods of respect to him-- and then to Theo. He was an extension of Boris, an association taken without question. There was no yelp of distaste or disapproval as Boris placed his hand on the small of Theo’s back before stepping around and sitting across from him.

Theo sipped his water and knew that  _ husband  _ truly was the most empty word in the English language-- and every translation therein. What did that label mean to describe the sense of comfort or stability Theo felt when Boris simply looked at him. It had no way of communicating the ways that Theo’s own thoughts, when they were their darkest and most paranoid, held a second layer of guilt; Theo thinking they’d somehow passed through Boris’s mind too before materializing. How did it explain the wash of relief Theo was nearly smothered with every time he panicked about being  _ seen _ for what he was, somehow Boris’s own carefree carelessness speaking up in the faint shadows of their bedroom to comfort him. Theo wasn’t anyone’s husband. That was merely the status. It was void of feeling, and Theo had far too many to place such a label on himself.

“Potter, had question for you.” Boris said after taking a long gulp of his drink-- something clear and bubbling. He tossed the straw on the table and drank from the scratched plastic like he was trying to drown.

“Go ahead.”

“Is about uh,  _ Ornery _ ?”

Theo grinned and lifted a finger to interject. “ _ Henri _ . It’s French. Henry, really.”

“Henry.” Boris said, the accents clashing in a mess of rolling tongues and hissing consonants. “The man with the ridiculous hair.”

“I’m not sure it’s real. Probably a toupee now that I’m thinking about it.” In some other life, even just a week prior, Theo would’ve curled his fingers into his palms and pushed his nails through to his bone after saying such a thing. After  _ noticing _ such a thing. His acute eye for apparent  _ fashion _ was beginning to startle him. But with Boris, Theo could swallow the shame. As promised, Boris wasn’t the one with the judgment.

“Bald man. Somehow that is more hilarious.” Boris pondered the insult, tapping his lip.

“He doesn’t know genuine from counterfeit anyway, let me tell you.” Theo muttered, reaching into his pocket. He felt his phone begin to vibrate before he heard it chime, a muted melody under the thick wool. “Can I get this?”

“Am not stopping you.” Boris shrugged. “Your business does not have to be mine.”

“I-- That’s not. Hold on.” Theo picked up his cell while Boris tipped back the rest of his glass. The ice was somehow stuck to the bottom of it, hanging over Boris’s nose. “Hey, Hobie. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, don’t you worry. I just wanted to call you about something really odd-- maybe you’d like to know.” Hobie sounded pleasant but quirked by something. Theo placed his hand on the table top, ready to reach over to Boris.

“What’s wrong?”

“That French faux-collector called-- the fast buyer I told you to watch for buyer’s regret?”

“... Henri?”

“Yes! Well, I was right. He just called to cancel his panic order from the other day. He’s rethinking his room and collection plans, he said.”

The ice finally fell, hitting Boris in the mouth.

“Oh. He cancelled?”

“Funny and fickle, isn’t he?” Hobie was laughing, but Theo felt sick again. Theo been given a warning and he’d  _ completely  _ ignored it. Caught in another disaster, only the pieces left for Theo to collect.

He hurried his way off the phone, citing Boris’s choking laughter as cause for more concern. He placed the phone down and wished he and Boris were back on their couch, out of reach of any eyes and safe again.

“What happen?”

“My client just cancelled that deal.” Theo’s lips were barely working. He could only think of the obscenities he’d committed with them-- the words they’ve admitted, the other lips they’d clung to.

“Oh, sorry to hear deal fell through.” Boris said, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. “Sometimes money cannot talk the talk, yes?”

Theo shook his head slowly. “I think he… it’s because he saw us. He doesn’t want to buy from me now. Because he saw you holding my hand.”

Boris lowered his glass with solemn unease. “No… Potter, don’t--” He reached for Theo’s hand. Theo jerked it away and grabbed the waiter passing them. He suddenly had no admiration in his eyes; Theo was a stray, groveling for respect.

“Can we have the check please?”

“No. No check.” Boris interrupted. “We have not even gotten food yet, Potter. Come on, we stay. Two of us! We have date!”

“Shut up!” Theo snapped, trying to push his seat back. He was sitting in a booth. “Just,  _ shut up _ .”

“I am not against you, Theo! I--”

“I don’t care! I don’t-- I want to go home. I--” Theo tried to push everyone away with a panicked wave of his hands. He exhaled with a quiet, long hum; his body had finally given the alarm a sound.

“Okay. Here-- take money,  _ chłopaczek _ . Drinks, tip, all. Yours.” Boris said to the waiter, ushering him away. “Potter, hey, Potter. Look at me.”

“I’m such a disgrace. Hobie’s business, God, I’ve screwed him  _ again _ . His reputation will never come back knowing he’s raised and hired a goddamn--”

“Theo!” Boris slapped the table firmly, but somehow without rattling any of the silverware or alarming anyone. It was the closest gesture Boris could get to holding his hand without touching him. “Man just does not want chair. Is not about you. No one cares about if  _ poof _ is selling furniture.”

Theo hit the edge of the table. He rattled the metal jam container and their cups. “Dammit Boris, can’t you be serious for a fucking  _ second _ \--”

“Serious? Am  _ being _ serious!” Boris said, tapping the table. Theo refused to look in his eyes. “What? Word bothers you?”

“Boris, come on. Stop.” Theo shook his head, feeling like the booth was getting smaller. “Please don’t mock me.”

“No! Am not--  _ Fuck _ , not saying it right.” Boris grumbled and wiped his mouth. “They can say whatever they want, yes? This is true. But people they tell-- people who use that word, words you do not like, tell me make you feel sour inside-- are people like them.”

“God, I  _ know _ .”

“No! Point is not made yet-- have to get there. Hold on!” Boris turned his hand palm up, tapping his knuckles against the table. Inviting Theo’s. “People like them would not buy from shop like yours anyway. No no. Just need excuse. People they tell? Already have minds made up. Don’t even hear words.”

“They’re going to  _ ruin _ him and it’s all my fault.”

“No. Potter, cannot control people that act without reason.” Boris urged, moving his hands further toward him. “Things they say, do? What reason? If he commit to spend half salary on chair, should not matter if seller has one  _ małżonek  _ or two. Shouldn’t matter if seller  _ fucks _ at all.”

Theo wanted to gag, his entire body surging with the disgust he felt shooting at him from the eyes around them. He’d ruined the last safe place he’d created. The glass cage the shop built around his  _ fairy-like _ traits because he also was the one to hand them the pen and enforce shop buying policies. Now those walls were shattered with the reality that the business end was Theo’s lie. He  _ was _ that person he appeared to be. He gave that business persona a life outside of bargaining oak chests. He gave it a lovelife, and a  _ disgusting _ one at that.

Not even a husband. Just a  _ man _ .

“I gotta get out of here.” Theo mumbled, fidgeting without much progress. “I need to be alone-- no one can see me out with--”

“Potter, am with you. Best of friends, yes? Always with you.” Boris held off reaching for Theo. His hands curled into loose fists. “Is scary, I know, but you are not here alone. I am always with you. Two man job-- us! Together!”

“That’s the worst part.” Theo muttered, biting his lip. “I can’t do this without you, even if I tried.”

“Then don’t try. Let me do work. Let me.” Boris’s voice sank down to a soft, cushioned whisper. “You help me, Potter. All times. Kind to me when many men before have only looked for… for… uh,  _ fuck _ .” He struggled for the word. Theo reached for his hand, holding onto his pointer finger gently. “Men look for… take advantage of… want to hurt on  _ inside _ so outside I say nothing. You have been kind to me for many years. Have not fully repaid debt--”

“Boris,”

“No. Is not a money debt. A comfort one.  _ I _ am comfortable. I come home, I feel nice. It is like, sunshine in middle of winter at night. It is life that in Russia thought was stupid children’s story. Joy? So much, all times? For me? Because of  _ you _ . And to know you do not-- you come home to hide. To stay inside for days. Potter, worries me. We are two. Means if one is down, hurt, other can still work. That is now. Let me do work.”

Theo placed his glasses down on the tabletop, blurring Boris’s outline even more than his tears were. As he blinked, a tear fell down his cheek. The streak reminded him of the droplets of water that’d fall from his hair after splashing around in his pool back in Vegas. It reminded him of that black vastness he’d so willingly jumped in, ready to let it swallow him whole. Boris had been in that darkness then too. Boris had called out to Theo to jump-- to come try and hide-- but was the one to guide him around in it.

Boris always lived in that black abyss-- had the haunting voices of rows of disgusting and immoral men following his every move-- but he knew his way around. Boris had learned to swim at an age far too young and Theo could only be grateful he was willing to teach him. The strokes would be different, but at least Theo knew he’d never drown.

“We go home. No need to talk if you want…  _ shhh Boris, shut up _ !” He echoed Theo’s panicked hush that came hissing out in every cab ride. “But, Potter, please. Old fucker is no one. Minuscule. Like dot. And not even one of those-- like with the paintings. No. Just  _ one _ dot. One. And you? Potter, you are--”

“A building.” Theo echoed, unsure if he laughed or sobbed after.

“Yes.” Boris laughed softly, his head nodding. He slid a napkin over to Theo’s hand, tapping him and motioning, with a blurred hand, to wipe his tears. “Want to go home, Theo?”

“Yeah.” Theo answered weakly, regretting his own open vulnerability. Maybe husband wasn’t the right word because he acted like such a  _ wife _ \--

“Potter?”

“What?”

“Let’s go.” Theo hadn’t moved and Boris was standing, with his coat back on, by his side. “I make stop and get dinner for us, yes?”

“I’m not really hungry.” Theo said instantly, pushing himself out of the booth. He avoided the sight of as many people as possible. Boris placed his hand on Theo’s shoulder, starting him for the door. “So maybe just something really small.”

Small was all Theo could do. Small meal, small steps, small acceptance.

**xi.**

Theo held his styrofoam cup of soup close to his chest, his legs folded up and under himself as he sat on the couch. Boris sat, curiously enough, on the ground in  _ front _ of his seat as they watched TV. It was a rerun of some sitcom from the 70s. It was some nuclear family being far more dysfunctional than any human family  _ would _ be, but getting away with it because they were at least still  _ normal _ .

“Ack! This is bullshit!” Boris was eating-- something definitely with a main ingredient being potatoes-- mouth full and fork pointing at the screen. “Not even funny! Nck, we change, Potter. Have remote?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Boris reached over his shoulder and felt around, patting Theo’s knee. “Potter, where are your legs?”

“I’m sitting on them.”

“Don’t. Put them here.” Boris patted his shoulder. “I am rest tonight.”

Theo hesitated but had no argument. He slowly shifted and placed both his legs over Boris’s shoulders, his feet bumping into his arms. Boris grabbed his calf with his one free hand and leaned his head against his knee. It was a private sort of intimacy. Theo could be comforted, could  _ relish _ in the comfort, and not have to be faced, or even be known to be watched. Not even by the man that was comforting him. Theo could exhale. He could inhale as raggedly as he wanted too without being watched. He could resettle into the idea of  _ being _ when he felt so exposed and raw.

He placed a hand in Boris’s hair, smoothing back a knot of curls slowly. “Thank you, Boris.”

“Is not thanks. Is just right thing.” Boris kissed Theo’s knee before going back to eating.

It was nothing, and in the best way possible. Not a move for status or show; not  _ husband _ . Boris was acting out of an urge for comfort and servitude. A debt that wasn’t being cleared to rid him of guilt. It was a debt to share the joy Theo had given Boris for many years-- even when he wasn’t around to do so directly.

_ Husband _ really wasn’t the right word. Not by a long shot.

“Wait, Boris. Weren’t you going to ask me something earlier today?” Theo lowered the TV volume, hushing the laugh track.

“Yes, but does not matter now. I do not want to ask big question when you are on little energy.” Boris said, lifting his fork up for Theo before waving it around to dismiss the idea.

“No, you can ask.” Theo felt it would use up less energy to face Boris without literally facing him. It was a step above lying in complete darkness with him. Boris’s curls still slipped through Theo’s fingers as he waited. “Go ahead. Ask me.”

Boris shifted but still didn’t turn his head. “Wanted to ask,” he stopped to chew. “What is with  _ word _ . You have problem with word being called you. Don’t understand and-- Is not often I ask to explain to me.”

“I’m not following.”

“The mean words, yes, understand. But, you do not like  _ ‘gay’ _ if said to you-- about you. Will not say aloud; notice these things. What is wrong about it? Is not bad, yes? Can be said in public? What is bad thing?”

Theo wanted to pull his legs back, but it was a fair question. Boris just was greatly misguided on the sensitivity on the issue. Frankly, Boris didn’t give a fuck about being “gay”; it was more of a priority to be safe. Those two things had never been the same before, because being “gay” involved choice-- the act of choosing a partner. Boris didn’t care about his choosing being one thing or another; it was a feeling of safety and love that brought him to that person-- and what kept Theo coming back to him.

“It’s a dumb story.” Theo acknowledged. He’d been thinking of the memory a lot recently, but he’d never been able to place why. He’d come to the false conclusion that he was just being nostalgic about the first family he’d ever been a part of.

“Potter, have heard you explain entire history of Woodrow Woodpecker Thanksgiving Day balloon. Is not stupid.”

“It’s  _ Woody _ Woodpecker.” Theo nudged Boris’s ribs with his heel. “Don’t make up his full name.”

“Do not change topic.” Boris turned his head slightly and eyed Theo peripherally.

Theo hooked his foot under Boris’s one forearm. “When I was eight, uh, I saw a couple that was two men. It was weird, I don’t know... There’s this love that you know your parents have, but then, I kept thinking there was another love that existed. It wouldn’t look like how my parents interacted-- and that really could have meant a lot of fucking things-- but I  _ really _ had no real idea of what it meant. Did you ever feel that?”

“No.” Boris said evenly.

“Well, I saw it then. On that day-- with both of my parents. We were walking and I saw them. Something just felt…  _ comprehensible  _ for the first time. But then my dad spit at them.” Theo sighed and placed his soup down on the seat next to him. “I learned what that word was and made sure to never say it aloud or even  _ remind _ anyone of the word. I just wanted love like my parents’.”

Boris turned and faced Theo finally. “Is not stupid, Potter. Makes sense.” He paused. “Think you have now?”

“No.” Theo muttered.  _ I definitely have something better _ .

“Oh. Understood.”

Theo’s words bound up in his throat. He could still hear Hobie laughing away a cornerstone sale of the quarter with  _ buyer’s regret _ . The regret had left Henri alone, but knew Theo on a near biblical level. It slipped under his skin, numbing his fingers. He couldn’t feel Boris’s curls as they got tangled in his mop of hair.

The conversation died and Theo could feel Boris trying to lay it down gently, resting his cheek against Theo’s leg kindly. Theo wasn’t alone, but the echoing alarm in his mind wanted him to be. There was safety in solitude, in being the only one to get hit when things finally blew up in his face.

**xii.**

In the middle of the night on Christmas Eve, just as the stars scattered themselves behind the shine of the streetlights, Theo jerked awake. He was unable to move or sit up. He thought he was calling out to someone, to the cloud of smoke chasing down the hallway-- away from him but closer to  _ her _ \-- but he was just groaning incoherent panic. His throat was raw as he took in a gasp of air, his body finally stilling.

"Potter! What is wrong? I am here." Boris grabbed Theo by both of his shoulders, shaking him firmly. Maybe rattling his brain would have it settle back into its original place.

"T-T-The museum.” Theo sputtered, clutching Boris’s arms. His nails tried to punch crescent moons into his flesh. Boris didn’t even flinch.

“Are not there, Potter. Are not there. With me in bed. We are together right here: safe.” Boris soothed.

“Yeah… Right here.” Theo panted, growing quiet. His fingers still pressed deeper.

It was a disgusting thing, to think that Theo's body was lonely. The nightmare was already soothing itself, fading like the clouds of dust and smoke he’d been recreating with fragments of his memories. But as Boris loosened his grip around Theo’s arms, his chest feel a kind of weighted emptiness. The feeling of needing to be touched only rising in his throat after knowing just  _ how _ being touched could feel. Theo knew he wasn’t alone, but his body was aching already with the thought of belonging only to itself.

“Don’t go.” His fingers dug  _ still _ deeper into Boris’s skin. It was a threat almost, but Theo wasn’t sure who was in danger. “Please. Don’t.”

“Am not.” Boris moved closer. The frizzy ends of his curls tickled the ends of Theo’s eyelashes and nose. “Not going anywhere. Are safe, Potter.”

“I know.” Theo hated that safety was so interwoven with the repulsion he perceived from the rest of the world. Theo could hear Boris’s breathing answering his own, feel the warmth of his skin act as a balm to his palpable fear, and knew the smell of linen detergent and menthols as an addictive anesthetic.

But what use was being alone? No one applauded him for it. Theo suffered silently, no matter how loudly he screamed. No matter how much his self-inflicted, forcibly accepted wounds bled and ached. His chest was empty and pulsed around the space. Something had been ripped out when he wasn’t looking-- when he hadn’t asked. Gripping Boris tightly, his fingers nearly drawing a new kind of blood, was Theo trying to put it all back together.

Broken things could be fixed, Theo had to remember. Hobie showed him that. All of New York worked under that assumption. Things that are out of sorts are never truly wasted; there’s always someone out there with a desire to adopt it, even if it is to change it or renew it. Nothing had to stay broken.

“Boris, are you still awake?” Theo hitched his leg over Boris’s, clinging to him with every limb he could offer.

“Yes. Am awake. What is wrong?”

“Nothing.” Theo felt for Boris’s face, finding his lips. “I just want to know you’re there.”

**xiii.**

Hobie’s shop reopened on Boxing Day. Theo was up early, moving around the bedroom with only steady dawn as his flashlight. Boris was snoring in bed, hand reaching for Theo’s side of the bed dreamily.

All finishing fixes to Theo’s outward appearance were noted in the hall mirror: Theo polished his glasses and tucked in his scarf correctly, he checked the line of buttons on his shirt with the button of his pants, he made sure his jacket was still as clean as when he got it from the dry cleaners. Even in the bleak morning light, Theo couldn’t help but note the one small difference to his coat.

It had been Boris’s Christmas gift to Theo: a small pride flag lapel pin. Sitting on their living room floor, like children excited for presents, Boris held the small pin out in the palm of his hand. The other rested on Theo’s knee, as if keeping him stationary and unable to run.

_ Had said I would get you one if you wanted. _

_ You said you’d  _ ** _steal _ ** _ one. _

_ And did. Stole this. _

_ Boris! _

_ Was for good reason. Why pay money to say things for free? Is unfair. Just want to say what you want without having people ask-- think can intimidate answer out of you. No. With this, Potter, you speak first. Very quiet-- like whisper-- but still loud enough they cannot be confused. Cannot be convinced otherwise. Just like yourself. _

The gesture was small but cacophonous. It was a way for Theo to speak more loudly about himself, but spoke the most about Boris. He didn’t understand the feeling the flag brought to Theo-- the sudden urge he had to  _ look away, look  _ ** _away _ ** and think of his pride when the coast was clear-- but he wanted Theo to have a clear understanding that it did matter to him. Hiding away, even in the silent space of Theo’s mind, was discouraged with the smallest piece of colored metal.

_ Happy Christmas, Theo. _

_ Merry Christmas, Borya. _

Theo left the pin on his left lapel, righting it before heading out the door. He gripped his key, still new and polished, all the way down the stairs. There was new snowfall from the night before, Theo leaving shallow, crisp footsteps all along the sidewalk. It followed him to work, and on the way home he followed it back.

**xiv. **

Theo needed to go to the bank. He just needed to get cash to give to Boris to pay his half the rent. He’d been told, repeatedly and in various languages, that he didn’t have to pay any bit of the rent but Theo disagreed. Theo began feeling like he had at the Barbour’s: a perpetual guest. He’d been hiding in their bedroom and sulking on the couch on and off in the awkward outro weeks of the year.

Their Christmas had been like ones in Vegas, but Theo’s inner child still felt unsettled. He was tugging on Theo’s sleeve-- and the alarm-- asking when things would be okay.

The security guard at the door clocked both of them as they entered. He eyed each of them for different reasons. Boris, despite walking fifteen minutes to the bank with Theo, was still trying to tuck his shirt in correctly.

_ Leave it, Boris! No one’s going to care if you’re a little disheveled this morning. _

_ Bullshit! Bank is place of business. And you are man of business. _

_ ... Are you trying to make me look good? For the bank teller? _

Theo though, was noted more specifically for the pin he, again, branded himself with. It was a pinpoint of color against the gentle, blurred pattern of his lapel. It was noticeable enough though, just as Theo intended.

“‘morning, gentlemen.” The guard said, holding the door for them. “Cold outside?” He was referring to Theo’s sudden blush and Boris’s hiked up sweater and open coat-- still fixing his shirt.

“A bit, yeah.” Theo nodded, walking in first.

There were no lines and only one teller working. She was older, hair graying at her temples and glasses hanging on a chain around her neck. She’d probably just started wearing them and had gotten in the habit of losing them. Theo could relate.

Before walking up, Theo stopped at the small island and grabbed a withdrawal form. Since Amsterdam, he’d had his account and wiring numbers memorized. He scrawled the humble amount down and dug through his wallet for his cards preemptively. Boris stood beside him, hand reaching around and trying to flatten his shirt inside of his jeans.

“Boris, it’s fine.” Theo wasn’t sure how kindly people would take to so much fidgeting. A gay man with a nervous-looking one, both their faces-- and recognition of it later-- skewed by either glasses or flopped curls, seemed more suspicious than any black hooded or masked person. “Is there a  _ reason  _ you need to impress the teller?”

“No, just for show.” Boris winked and tugged his sweater back down. “Look good, yes?”

Theo chewed his bottom lip. “Yes. You do.”

It was the sweater Theo had bought Boris for Christmas: Brooks Brothers, real saxxon wool, charcoal black with a cable knit pattern running down from both shoulders to the waist hem. He’d seen Boris come home from work-- the word still held a loose definition in a way Theo didn’t bother to understand-- shivering from the cold more and more as the winter wore on. A desert blossom suddenly rooted in the ice.

“I can help you when you’re ready.” The woman spoke softly across the silence of the foyer. It was so quiet, it sounded pointed in Theo’s ears, his tinnitus threatening to start up merely from the  _ absence _ of all sound. “If you are.” Theo had been standing with his completed form and card for a bit, just watching Boris adjust his clothing. Not a great start to his first non-business day with his pride pin, Theo had to admit.

Handling two forms of guilt-- inconveniencing his Man and visible homosexuality-- was a fine example of unstoppable force and unmovable object. Theo stood with his mouth open for a moment, looking at his withdrawal slip.

“Is ready, yes.” Boris wrapped his arm around Theo’s shoulders and nudged him forward. “Potter is ready.”

“Potter?” She repeated, typing on her computer.

“No! No, last name is Decker. Theodore Decker.” Theo took a long, quick stride to the desk. He placed his hands against the edge, trying to close the gap and keep his voice down. “He just… calls me that.”

“Oh.” She quickly backtracked on her keyboard. She held her hand out for the form, lips pursed as she worked. Theo grabbed Boris’s hand under the counter; he could feel his heart starting to pound in his ears. It was worse than any tinnitus.

“The glasses, yes? He looks like Harry Potter.” Boris said, unprompted. “The glasses.”

The woman looked up. Andrea. Theo could see her name tag clearly. “Yes. Yes, I see it now.” Her worked stopped as she studied his face. Somehow this made Theo feel worse.

“Do you want my ID?” He asked, snapping the plastic onto the counter.

“Oh! No, I’m sorry. I’m just--” She waved her hand in front of her face. “I was just-- you look like my son.”

“Oh.” Boris twitched beside Theo as he squeezed his hand too hard.

“You’re far more handsome though. And you look far better with your partner than he does with his.” She spoke while looking over the tops of her glasses. Her eyes left Theo to land on Boris. “He’s very handsome.”

“I-- uh.” Theo blinked, unsure of what he was supposed to say. He was hoping his pin would say all of it.

“See, Potter? Sweater is important. Look nice for her! She notice.” Boris waved his hand toward her, laughing. “Is important to look nice. Make  _ you  _ look better too.”

“Oh, he’s adorable.” Andrea muttered, reaching under the desk. “You’re adorable.”

“H-How old is your son?” Theo asked quickly, dodging the line of conversation. “The one with the uh, partner?”

“Twenty-five. Got married last year. Fast engagement, but he really loves him. You can just tell sometimes.” She gave Theo a pointed but gentle look as she stood from her chair. “I’ll be right back with your amount.”

Theo nodded and let her go into the back. He didn’t dare speak without anyone present; he needed to be regulated by the ears of those unapproving. Boris, though, had no such desire.

“See what happen? One sweater and  _ boom _ ! Am adorable! You think I am adorable, Potter? Pinch cheeks and smile at? Huh? Do you think so?” Boris dropped Theo’s hand to demonstrate the action on him. His cheeks were still practically glowing.

“I don’t think that’s the word I would use.” Theo pushed his hand away with two fingers.

“Oh, no? Would not? What else then?”

“At the moment?” Theo’s voice snapped, his anxiety peaking in their moment alone. It was an offensive anxiety, Theo knew it, but he couldn’t help it. He’d been proven correct before in his self-disgust within  _ moments  _ of testing if his inner, younger child had made all the right sacrifices. Boris blinked, waiting for him to finish. “...I think  _ charming  _ is better.”

“Ah, would agree. It is sweater. You made me into proper man. Like could own fine art.”

“What? Not buy any?” Theo muttered with a smirk, hearing Andrea return.

“Here you go, Mister Decker.” She held out the envelope before she even properly reached the desk, a grin replacing her previously pursed lips. There was still no one else in the bank. “All large bills.”

“Thank you very much. Happy New Year.” Theo took the crisp envelope, pressing on the green logo seal before slipping it inside his coat.

“Oh, and Mister Decker, I have something for you, too.” Theo looked up and saw that Andrea was no longer looking at him. Boris was caught off-guard. He raised his eyebrows and laughed shortly. It cracked the silence like a whip.

“Mister Decker.” He repeated. “Is me, yes. Hello.”

“Jesus Christ.” Theo muttered. Boris sounded  _ too _ pleased. He’d be hearing Boris cackle with laughter all the way back to the apartment.

“Someone as sweet as you? You get one of these.” She twisted the stick of a lollipop between her thumb and forefinger, the square of clear wrapping crinkling in the air.

The laughter, although still silent, cut off in a palpable way. Boris’s entire attitude deflated in a short exhale. His eyes fixed on the lollipop, growing dizzy as it spun, but not at all from the motion. Theo had never seen him so paralyzed. Not even with a gun to his head.

“Boris,” Theo whispered, bumping his hand lightly.

“Is  _ lizak _ .” He said, voice empty. “Lime.”

Andrea looked at it with amusement. “Yeah. That’s all we have here.”

“Thank you.” Boris took the stick carefully, grinning with a clenched jaw. He spoke with a strangled American accent.

“Happy New Year, boys. Pleasure, Mister Decker… and Mister Potter.”

Only Theo had the means to laugh, trying to make up for the inappropriately heavy silence that hung in the already silent room. It sounded like a cough, Theo all but pushing Boris out onto the sidewalk with as much nonchalance as he could. Theo tried not to set off any more alarms.

“Boris, are you okay? Boris, hey. Look at me. Boris.” Theo didn’t wait for him to respond before he kept asking. Theo ducked his head to see more clearly through Boris’s curls.

“Is  _ lizak _ , Potter. Look.” Boris held the lollipop in his hand the way small children held insects. He looked just as amazed and disgusted too.

“You don’t have to-- Here.” Theo pushed it out of Boris’s hand and onto the sidewalk. He crushed it under his foot with a solid crack. It reminded him of stomping out a cigarette, Theo soon patting his pockets for one of Boris’s and a light.

Before he could present Boris with a cigarette, or even the idea of finding one, Boris took off walking. His steps were steady but as if they were set with a windup gear. Theo chased after him, his open coat flopping.

“Boris, wait! Hey-- excuse me-- Boris! Borya, get back here!” Theo was desperate, trying to use anything he could to get Boris to stop parting the crowd before him; it only meshed and weaved around Theo later. He was stuck in the aftermath of Boris’s determined daze. “What can I do? P-Please, just tell me what to say. Let me help. Let me try.”

“Keep talking. Chit chat. Please. Go on.” Boris said, staring straight ahead. He stopped at the edge of the sidewalk, right before the crosswalk, but it didn’t seem to be by any form of sight. Boris just seemed unable to move.

There were people all around them. Shoulders pushing into Theo’s arms and nudging him dangerously close to moving cars, and aggravated voices swarming around them and the slow countdown. Rush hour was only starting; people just wanted to get home. They were distracted. They were harmless.

Theo took Boris’s hand, lacing their fingers together and holding his hand against his chest. “What do you want me to talk about?”

“Anything. Any things. I will listen.” Boris blinked like he was trying to regain vision after a deep, paper-bag inhale had left him star-sighted and oxygen depleted.

“Uh, I don’t know what to talk about.” There was so much running through Theo’s mind, but none of it seemed helpful at the moment.

“Doesn’t matter. Just want to hear your voice.”

“My voice?” Theo said. “W-What’s wrong with my voice?” Even as he asked, it cracked.

“Nothing.” Boris’s own voice sounded distant. Theo closed the gap between their shoulders and started walking as the light changed. “Hadn’t heard voice in years-- so high-pitch when we were younger-- and then I hear it,  _ years _ later in bar, and it is so different. But know it is you.”

“How  _ did _ you manage that?” Theo smoothed his thumb over the back of Boris’s hand.

“Feeling.” He said. “In your voice, hear presence of God.”

“Wait. Do you even  _ believe  _ in God?” Theo tried not to sound too excited to have such a long-winded and open-ended question to keep Boris occupied. “I mean, not in the Great Plan, kind of way? Like, minor divine intervention sort of thing?”

“No. But God loves all His things, yes? And for you? To love  _ me _ ? Better than Heaven.”

The silence was agonizing, if only for Theo. With each second, he became hyper aware that he had still not answered and was mishandling one of the kindest sentiments he’d ever had the pleasure of hearing in his life. After all the fear of ever hearing love again, it was being given to him with two very warm, and slowly steadying, hands.

“I do love you.” It still felt fresh to admit, especially with foot traffic piling up around them. Theo kissed the back of Boris’s hand. He kissed him again on the knuckles, copying the gesture Theo had run and rerun in his brain a thousand times before seeing Boris again. He’d practically warped the memory when they reunited, thinking of it only hours prior. “Want to hear the story of my first science fair project? Or how about the one time I walked in on Andy  _ definitely _ looking at porn?”

“Tell me about funny boy.” Boris said, finding his footing more firmly in the crowd. “Always got into crazy things, you did, Potter.”

“I really did, didn’t I?” Theo agreed with a short laugh. “Nothing like I did when I met you though.”

“Best for last, ya?”

“ _ Best _ ? Eh, I don’t know if I would call our time in Vegas our _ best _ times. We almost drown  _ how _ many times?”

“But did not. We survive.”

“Yeah.” Theo kept Boris’s hand pressed against his chest. “We did survive. Survived Vegas and then survived… God, not seeing each other for almost  _ ten years _ . I still can’t believe we ran into each other.”

“Is not accident. Is--”

“Presence of God.”

“Yes. You understand.”

_ No. I don’t. _ “You know, I think I do.”  _ Actually, I really only understand you. _

Boris was the first rainstorm in Eden. A drenching, disorienting downpour that Theo stood out in for days at a time. In those eight years, Theo made sure to never really notice when it wasn’t raining-- he let the drugs take care of that-- but it was a shocking feeling to suddenly have none of the crawling under his skin, but instead the fine tingling of beads of water pricking him back to life.

Boris was practically the flood too. But he’d taught them both to swim. How to hold up the other if they’d stopped paddling, too. After all their time together, and especially apart, drowning was a threat of everyday life that was slowly drifting away.

“Can you believe God gives half a shit about us?” Theo said. He smiled and looked over his glasses at Boris: a mural, a whole sculpture garden, a masterpiece with detectable flaws perfectly placed.

Boris snorted, the laugh taking him by surprise. “No. Cannot. Must be bored.”

“Or maybe just taking time to fix some things.” Theo suggested. “Redirect some good, you know?”

“You think God…  _ apologizes _ ?” Boris blinked. It was like he was batting his eyelashes.

“In our case, I think maybe He was.”

“Hm.” Boris grunted. He nodded like he was rocking on his heels, eyes straight ahead. “About fucking time.”

**xv.**

After the second week of January, Theo came home to find Boris propped up on the counter,  _ definitely _ burning dinner, but doing so with a lollipop sticking out of his mouth. Boris apologized for the mess with a wide grin and an offering to share the sticky sweet. They sat on the counter together, passing the lollipop and trying to soak the burnt rice out of the pan.

Theo couldn’t remember just  _ when _ it all started to feel normal. Wasn’t sure when he’d taped down the alarm; the metal rattle unable to even flinch at the slightest detection of danger. That younger version of himself, the one holding the lever, had grown up so it seemed. Or at least found his own place to rest, finally. He was still an orphan, always would be, but at least he’d found a better home. He was safe.

“Hey, Borya?” Theo called, toward the bathroom. He was sitting with his legs bent and feet pushed together, hands massaging his sore knees; he’d spent numerous hours crouching and edging in the new paint to the hallway. Change was starting to hurt, if only a little.

“Yes?” Boris’s head stuck out of the doorway, toothbrush sticking out of his mouth this time. He was startled, alarmed even, by the name.

“How long do you think you’ll be?” It was a pretty straight-forward question. For Theo at least.

“Uh,” Boris pulled the toothbrush from his mouth. “Done now?”

“No, you can finish. But, don’t take too long.” Theo said coyly. He was doing it with some level of success, he had to admit.

“You have plans.” Boris said before leaning back into the bathroom. He was heard spitting into the sink basin twice, the water running and plastic toothbrush handle clattering against the counter. “This is unusual.”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it.” Theo bemoaned, letting his head fall back. He looked at Boris from under his glasses. “Or I’ll change my mind.”

“No! No big deal. So very tiny deal. Microscopic-- like, five dollar deal. Tiny.” Boris said, wiping his hands on the opposite sleeve as he walked back to Theo.

“Yeah?” Theo nodded, looking at Boris with his best attempt at neutrality. He righted his head as Boris sat down on the bed, body still but looking sure of all the places he  _ could _ go. “You got five dollars?”

“Potter--”

“Oh  _ fuck _ \-- I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t mean like-- fuck fuck fuck. Not money-- uh, how about a minute? You got a minute?” Theo rambled, his flushed chest blossoming up to his neck.

“Minute?” Boris chuckled, shaking his head. “You want to last  _ minute _ , Potter?”

“I-- fuck. You know what I’m trying to ask.” Theo sighed, looking at Boris. “Borya, I’m trying.”

“And am letting you try!” 

Boris folded his legs up onto the bed, his hands resting in his lap. He remained to himself, seemingly starting a standoff between the crease in the bed sheets. It was an imaginary line, one Theo had never seen the other side of. There was no wall, but Theo half expected his hand to be stopped as it crossed over to take Boris’s.

Boris’s hands weren’t trembling. They weren’t cold or numb. They even turned to grip Theo’s better, squeezing it like they were about to leap.

It wasn’t until Boris started laughing that Theo realized he’d been thinking in complete silence. The blush on his face was by no means subtle, and Boris’s amusement was by no means hidden.

“Hey! Stop laughing at me!” Theo pushed Boris back and moved to sit over his legs. “Stop!”

“Sorry! Is not funny, promise. Is joy! You make me laugh, Potter. In best way.” Boris was giggling-- honest to God  _ giggling _ under Theo-- his hands covering his mouth. An innocent gag order. “You talk and I feel…” He grinned, bright and still unnervingly straight-toothed. “Beautiful.”

“You are.” Theo managed, the words scraping the back of his throat.

He’d never admitted aloud, with his hands undeniably roaming over the chest of another man, that said lover was beautiful-- that he was attracted to him. Theo had never left clues to the ones he loved. Now it was traceable. Someone could find his hands and feel his blushing, almost like another handprint, and see what kind of man Theo was.

One that was in love, that was all. A man--  _ Boris’s man _ \-- in love and committed to being only that, for the moment. For the evening.

“I… um,  _ fuck _ , uh.” Theo pulled his hands back to himself and tried to steady them. “I… want to, um, want to have sex with you.”

Boris snorted, clearing his throat quickly. His hands rested on Theo’s hips, thumbs playing with the hem of his shirt. “Formal request? Like application.”

“Borya, please.” Theo sighed, his throat closing.

“Sorry. Jokes not help?”

“No. They don’t.”

“Okay. Sorry. Request: yes. I would like, too.” Boris nodded and with a blink he was present and serious.

Discomfort was the one thing Boris never had any intention of colliding with again. The moment the tension returned to Theo’s voice, or his hands began fidgeting with the prospect of touch, Boris sobered. Theo never had to ask Boris to do anything twice-- especially not something like  _ this _ \-- but he acknowledged Theo had to ask himself every few seconds, just to remind himself to say  _ yes _ .

“I’m gonna kiss you.” Theo said, leaning down. “I’m gonna kiss you. And it’s gonna be bad. Because I don’t know what I’m doing. Still. So. Sorry.”

“It is not  _ do _ . It is  _ feel _ .” Boris cupped the sides of Theo’s face. His fingers braced the arms of his glasses against his temples carefully. “Want specs? To see.”

“Just for this, is that okay?”

Boris nodded with a smile. He looked hurt, almost, like attributing him with an opinion on such a thing was far too painful to consider.

In all honesty, Theo just wanted to see those flaws-- those uneven and heavy brush strokes-- up close as he slowly peeled the canvas apart for the first time. He wanted to see the scars and freckles and bruises and memories just as clearly with his eyes as he did with his fingers. Boris was a map of their entire lives-- sitting there, just across his skin. Theo could note the belmeishes he’d remembered, even caused, and find the ones that were still new after all those years apart. The tattoos that were still new and different, the pinpricks in the crease of his elbow that were ghostly now, the bubble of scar tissue on his bicep, the soft and rounded bruise at the base of his collar bone, the long cut at the base of his other arm, above his elbow-- it was all there for Theo to see and he didn’t want to miss it. He didn’t want to fog his own vision and leave Boris out on his own.

Theo held Boris for a while, his thumbs resting on his cheeks. They shared silence and one slow, continuous breath. Theo lived every moment like that, every fearful moment he tried to push  _ down down  _ ** _down_ ** _ ,  _ in complete darkness. He’d let it wash over him and remain unfocused. Now, in the light of their room and clarity of his glasses, Theo could see his whole life. The light had turned on at the bottom of the pool. He could see what he was fighting against and fighting for. What he wanted was in sharp, dangerous focus and what he was afraid of was nowhere to be found-- rather than the other way around.

Theo still didn’t know how to kiss, had never been confirmed to be sure or not, but did so anyway. He brought himself down to rest over Boris, legs still bracketing his hips but back arching to press his chest against his. He felt compacted and twisted-- but at least it wasn’t his stomach. He felt  _ okay _ . And he could feel Boris’s hands settling around him like he had finally fit into place.

“Borya,” The word was passed between their lips, barely audible.

“Yes, Theo. Anything.” Boris’s words were nothing more than a sigh. He hitched Theo up off of him in order to sit up, wanting to pull Theo closer to him. “Will do anything.”

“Will you trust me?”  _ Trust me to make mistakes, to be awkward, to be the worst. _

“Would not be here if I didn’t.”

“ _ Fuck _ .”

Theo scrambled for the back of Boris’s shirt, hiking it up and trying to pull it over his head without choking him. Boris did the same with a steady stream of laughter, his nose crumpling into an endearing fit of surprise.

“Borya, wait.” Theo panted, pressing his hand against Boris’s chest. His flush was hot to the touch, nearly burning right through to the bone.

“Yes, yes. Theo, what is it?”

“Are you scared?”

Boris blinked. His lips pursed as he swallowed. “No. No. Is just you, Potter. I know you. Never scared. You?”

“No. Not anymore.”


	3. Prologue: First Time (Sober)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Chapter 1, Theo's narrative mentions his first time being intimate with Boris and how well that did NOT go... so I decided to write it! Now you have a window into just how awkward and off-kilter Theo's first sober experience with Boris just happened to be.
> 
> While, per my other chapters, this is not Extremely Explicit, please know the point of this chapter IS that they're having sex. I really focus on their emotions and explore being in Theo's head, but I just wanted to be clear.
> 
> Thank you and enjoy this little insert!

**Selling a Fake: Six Months Prior. Back from Amsterdam, not yet back to Normal.**

After dinner-- last-minute takeout and fortune cookies from two nights prior-- Theo stood to take their plates to the kitchen sink. Neither were from the same set: one a chipped white plate with careful geometric shapes pressed around the edge, and the other nearly fluorescent blue with the painter’s brush strokes visible on the base of the plate. He placed them down on the counter before shrugging off his blazer— kept on in the rush of sitting down to eat.

Theo tossed it over the end of a stool— without an empty counter to eat on, mind you— to the right of the sink. As Theo began rolling up his sleeves, Boris’s hands traced over his shoulders. He’d barely noticed Boris had followed. He was the best shadow, never truly casting any darkness onto the ground-- if anything, giving light to Theo’s past steps.

Touch had never been a strange form of conversation between them. They were both clumsy and they were best friends for far too long to fear the physical checking of boundaries. But, at the sink, Boris’s touch had hesitation. It was a non-verbal preamble: a quiet compliment to their new shape and form: how much Theo had distanced himself from malnourishment. Boris’s hands were familiar with Theo, but Theo had nearly forgotten what they felt like on his body.

“Do you need the sink?” Theo asked, turning. Boris was closer than he’d expected, his eyes carefully outlining his shoulders in the echo of his touch.

“No. Am not here to kick out. Share. Be in with you.” Boris’s hands were at his sides, but they fidgeted as if restrained. The tone was familiar, but Theo could barely remember the source.

“Oh, okay. That’s fine.” Theo’s voice wavered. He was trying to match Boris’s, but felt his stomach sink _ low low lower _. Earlier, Boris had touched Theo’s hand across the table, saying something nonsensically sweet in Russian using the same tone. “Yeah. Totally fine.”

“Yes. Had good day today with you.” Boris’s eyes were still heavy on Theo’s shoulders. “Is nice to have dinner too.”

“Yeah, really nice.” Theo couldn’t match Boris’s tone well enough. He sounded like he was deflecting.

“And you sleep over too, yes?”

“Planned on it. Is that alright?” Theo waved toward Boris’s bedroom at the end of the apartment. Pointing out he brought clothes felt suddenly intimate, like Theo was showing Boris the individual decisions he had made in deciding what sleep shirt and pants he’d “nonchalantly” packed-- assuming, of course, he’d be allowed to stay. It still was never even a question.

Boris always said he slept worse when he was alone, and Theo still couldn’t stop waking up in a cold sweat, screaming in nightmares. They liked to act like it was a simple act of service to share a bed, not a goddamn necessity.

“Yes. Yes. Sleep over is good, yes. Stay.” Boris lifted his hands as if waving Theo on, but didn’t move.

“... Okay. I’m going to wash the dishes now.” Theo muttered, blinking. _ I’m going to be naked now _, was how it sounded when it came out. Theo found Boris’s tone, funny enough, but at a far wrong strength.

“Potter…”

“Yeah?” Theo could taste his tongue, could feel his own inhale try to rush the flow of time. “What is it?”

He paused. “Want to be close with you tonight, Potter. That is okay?” Boris spoke carefully although his body moved in a way that was anything but: shifting from one foot to the other, hands already tugging on his sleeves and gathering them into his palms. He was running on pure electricity.

Theo nodded quickly, if only from the shock of Boris being that way because of _ him _.

As if they were running out of time, Boris grabbed Theo’s hands and began tugging him forward. The aftermath of dinner was abandoned and Theo was so happy to leave his post as the dutiful guest. He just wanted to be the same person Boris was-- they knew how to do that. Fold back together, trembling hands so fucking clueless and--

Stepping into Boris’s bedroom-- his _ new _ bedroom-- was a chilling reminder that they’d left so much more behind than just a ghost town development. Somewhere in their two houses, they’d maybe left their comfort and sense of self-- at least Theo did.

Before Theo could untuck his shirt, standing dumbly in the center of the bedroom but briefly unsure how he’d gotten there, actual words began to tumble out of his mouth. Theo felt like they should have been more liquid; every other time Boris had wanted to be intimate with Theo, they’d barely been sober enough to speak in solid, monolingual sentences.

“Wait. Wait.” Boris did. Theo’s mind couldn’t. “I’ve never done this before.” Theo was suddenly shaking, but he was afraid he was shuddering. A deep fear that was refusing to stay buried, even when Theo was trying to speak over it.

“Potter, do not understand. _ We _ have done before.” Boris laughed, pulling his shirt over his head. There was no difference to Boris between seeing Theo in perfect clarity and slurring and spitting colors. “And have had fiancee, yes?”

Theo gripped the buttons of his shirt, keeping them closed. “I’ve never done this before.”

Boris stopped, hands already at his belt, blinking at Theo. “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know. I-- I don’t know, Boris. I don’t.”

“Potter. Be clear with me. What are you talking about?” Boris stopped undressing and stepped closer to Theo. Theo stayed planted but leaned back. “You are high? Been drinking, yes?”

“No. No. That’s just it. I don’t know-- It’s like I’ve _ seen _ myself do it a bunch of times, but now I… Boris, I don’t know what I’m doing. I-I can’t. I can’t do it-- _ this _.”

There was a voice louder than Theo’s own rambling that _ still _ hadn’t stopped. An alarm that hadn’t stopped shrieking the moment Boris’s chest was exposed. Theo stared at the floor, trying not to look at him. His eyes refused taking in the new landscape of previous memories. Boris wasn’t fifteen and starving anymore. He was a grown, healthier man. He had an uneven coverage of birthmarks and freckles, had new bruises, definitely new scars, and so many valleys of muscles and cushioned bone for Theo to run his hands over--

“Potter, is just me. Just you.”

“I know. I know! I just-- I can’t. No.” Theo had closed his eyes. He hoped clenching them would ruin his eyesight further; when he’d open them his glasses would be obsolete and he’d be blind to the man in front of him. If only.

“But want to, Potter?” Boris asked slowly, hands trying to take Theo’s. They refused to let go of Theo’s shirt.

“Don’t make me say it.” He spoke through quivering lips and clenched teeth. Boris nudged his hand, silently asking again. Boris hadn’t heard an answer and he was sober enough to know body language wasn’t enough.

“Potter. Is just me and you. Can say things wanted.”

“Boris, please… of course I want to. I haven’t left, have I?”

“Then what is problem? Theo, you act scared of me. Do you want or no? Actual want. Or lie to me-- doing for me only.”

“Yes! Yes… I do. But--” Theo admitted, biting his tongue immediately. There was an instantaneous urge to correct his language, like he’d misspoken. His ability to see straight-- his inability to _ be _ as such as he looked at Boris with his corrected vision-- and being unable to look away had never been part of _ this _ vulnerability. “I— I don’t know what’s going on. I— I should… I don’t know.”

“Are okay, Potter. Here, sit down.” Theo had no argument and didn’t want to find one. He nodded slowly, letting Boris take his hands and walk him three steps back.

Boris sat Theo down on the edge of the bed and knelt in front of him. He rested his hands on Theo’s legs, gently soothing him before running his hands down to his feet-- to begin untying his shoelaces. Theo watched with paralyzed curiosity as Boris carefully undid both of his shoes, tugging them off and then placing them beside the bed. He unrolled Theo’s socks next, placing them inside each of their respective shoes.

“What are you doing?”

“You say do not know. I show you-- Is easy stuff. Just the shoes. Now, let me get shirt, Potter.” The tone suggested he was really asking-- both asking and giving permission. Theo nodded.

Boris peeled Theo’s hands away slowly, placing them in his lap to rest. His fingers were stuck in their cramped and bent position. Every nerve in Theo’s body was trying to argue against his rigidity. It wanted to _ run _ , to push Boris away and say _ no _ to this side of him again. This was letting him ask for things he didn’t deserve, letting himself enjoy the sweetest and most long-awaited _ sin _ of his entire life. There was a fucking _ reason _ the Garden gave Eve an apple and not a lemon.

Before much else could rattle in Theo’s head, his shirt was being pushed open. He still had an undershirt, but even the exposure of his arms felt like a brash, indecent flashing. Boris ran his hands up and down his biceps, as if trying to warm them.

“Potter is strong man now, yes?” _ Ohhh, he was flirting _ . _ Oh fuck fuck fuck _. Theo had no answer to any of this part of the equation. Repeating anything he was thinking would be a horrible sound, ugly and menacing to the wrong ears.

“I want to keep my shirt on.”

Boris blinked, but nodded slowly. “Want me to get one?”

“No. No, not if you don’t want.” Theo let himself peek at Boris’s bare chest, just beyond the reach of his knees. He was still slim, his eating habits still not out balancing how hyperactive he was. His hips cut down sharply into his jeans, the bones far more pronounced than any other curve of his waist. Theo _ wasn’t _ looking, he _ wasn’t _, no no no no--

“Okay. I keep off, but if you change mind. Have one right here. Can cover up, yes?” Boris rested his hands on Theo’s knees as he settled and sat on his heels.

“Yes.”

“Can I take belt, Potter?”

“Yes.”

Having Boris’s hands be back at his waist, but not fumbling or even frantic, felt surreal. Theo wanted to fight off the horrified fifteen year old he could see in his head-- head hanging over the edge of the tub as he vomited. He’d thought he was hung over, but the gagging only seemed to follow every time he thought about being with Boris the afternoon before.

He was embarrassed-- _ very _ much so-- by the way Boris’s hands touched him. It was great, felt like his mind was untying all the knots of wanting to know _ what it would feel like again _ . But he still felt uncomfortable in letting anyone or anything hear that he was enjoying it. Even the tiniest hitch in Theo’s breathing felt like a despicable overshare. Theo clenched his teeth and tried to stop himself. Boris had _ only _ slipped his belt out, barely even undoing the front button.

“Potter, look like you are in pain. Yes?”

“No. I’m okay.”

Boris paused. “Am going to take off pants. Theo. Okay?”

_ No no no no no _ . “Yes. Okay.” _ What are you doing? You can’t let him-- are you really going to let yourself sink this _ fucking _ low? This is another man. Another man. You can’t let anyone know what you’re-- _

“What can I do?” Boris’s hands were still frozen, pushing the front button of his slacks through the hole. “If you would like, Pott-- Theo, I can touch--”

“No no no. No.” Theo shook his head, the word tumbling from his lips like it had been buried in his lungs. It was an impulsive exhale. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Is no problem. Can do other too-- or instead.”

“No. I don’t want you to do… _ that _.”

“Okay.” Boris nodded again. The obvious was becoming clear. “Not sure what can do, Theo. Cannot touch-- unless you want to.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You know how, yes?”

Theo could feel himself run _ menacingly _ red, his hands freezing by his sides. This was the moment he’d truly be exposing himself the most-- not even just literally. He’d have to reveal to Boris-- _ if _ he went through with it-- just how unfamiliar his hands were with the rest of his body. How awkward and rushed he would move, hunched over and pinching his eyebrows together hoping it’d be over _ faster faster faster _ . If even thinking about Boris-- or any man-- alone was sinful as it was, showing another man how Theo _ acted _ on those thoughts was definitely worse. Maybe slightly worse than even letting Boris touch him.

“Let’s um.” Theo swallowed thickly, his words trying to slow him down. “Skip that part.”

“You want me not to touch you.” It was a question, but also disbelief.

“Not right now. I need to warm up to it.”

“Warm up? Okay, yes. Understand. But can still unbutton, okay? Then, I will do mine, yes? Even.” Boris’s patience reflected in quick, short nods of his head as he spoke. His hair flopped back and forth, Theo reaching out to thread his fingers in it involuntarily. “Yes?” He smiled brightly, his features warm even in the cold, dark scape of the room. “Yes.”

Boris undid the button and carefully unzipped Theo’s slacks. His hands started at his cuffs, tugging as firmly as he could to get them just the tiniest bit down his body. He avoided going near Theo’s hips, eventually shimmying them enough to where Theo just had to lift himself up to get them down the rest of his legs.

Sitting on the edge of Boris’s bed, in only his undershirt and boxers, Theo felt like he was waiting to be punched. He was still, anticipating a hit from somewhere, but didn’t know where to duck to dodge it.

The peripheral fear faded though as Boris leaned back on his feet to begin unbuttoning his jeans. He removed them quickly, pushing them past his hips and down his legs. He did it so fast he turned the pant legs inside out, tossing the pair aside. He removed his forgotten sock and rose to sit beside Theo. He was wearing only his briefs.

Theo wasn’t looking. He wasn’t. He was _ not _ looking. Not at Boris, not at his underwear, not at his body, not at his hands or his dark and patient eyes, not at his chest or how it rose and fell with his breathing. Theo was _ not _ looking.

“Am going to kiss you.” Boris paused, waiting for the rebuttal.

Theo blinked, waiting in return.

It never came.

Boris’s lips were soft, despite being characteristically chapped. His lips were pursed as he pulled back, trying to stay with Theo’s a moment longer. Theo’s eyes were closed and fighting to stay as such. He was trying to cut out the feeling of even _ having _ a body as Boris kissed him, tried to forget it was a physical act, and remember he was also _ feeling _ so much more.

Boris held the sides of his face, easing himself closer to Theo. He turned on the bed-- Theo feeling the weight shift beside him-- and brought himself up to Theo’s side. His chest swelled before he sighed, the bare skin touching Theo’s shoulder.

Theo wasn’t sure what kissing was supposed to be like exactly, or what made a good kisser, but he knew when it felt good. Kissing felt like a warmth in his chest that never stopped growing. All he wanted to do was take deeper and deeper breaths, pulling Boris in— or pushing himself against Boris, really— until his entire body felt covered in that same, weighted heat. He didn’t know how to keep that good feeling going in terms of technique. But maybe that’s why kissing was always so desperate: everyone was just trying to chase the feeling down.

Boris shifted quickly— an impulsive move cut short. His one leg had reached over, almost hooking over Theo’s legs, but retracted back before Theo could even anticipate the move: Boris had tried to swing his leg around and straddle Theo’s lap. It could have been a compulsory move, but for Theo had wildly direct implications.

Boris was well adjusted to intimacy. He was comfortable asking for and giving it without any shame or intimidation.

“How are you feeling?” Boris gave Theo a reprieve as he spoke. Theo wasn’t sure how long it’d been-- his chest felt carved out and his entire body felt like it no longer belonged to him, but rather, to Boris.

“Okay. I feel okay… good, actually.” Theo was breathing embarrassingly heavy. His hands were by his sides. He didn’t want to touch Boris. Didn’t want to say anything by accident.

Boris did not have the same problem. He held Theo’s face, kissing him between sentences, with his ankle hooked over Theo’s. “So beautiful-- are still okay?”

“You don’t have to keep--”

“I ask.” Boris’s hands fell to rest on Theo’s chest. “I ask.”

In reality though, Boris kind of _wasn’t_ asking. Well, he wasn’t _naming_ what he was asking. Because there was what they were doing-- _kissing_ _and fearful, one-sided touching_\-- and what was next in line-- _actually having sex_\-- and Boris was at the point of trying to change, uh, gears. Positions, maybe was the better word, but Theo refused to think it for longer than a second. Couldn’t think clearly enough to do it either.

“Potter?”

Theo had never done it sober. Never thought he’d have to. He thought he’d keep _ it _\-- his desire to see and be with Boris again-- buried deep in himself, and maybe even the ground if he had to. Theo wanted to know though. He wanted to remember everything. He wanted to be shown intimacy again.

“I’m positive.” Theo said. Boris tilted his head, eyebrows furrowing with brief misunderstanding. “I mean-- I’m sure. I’m okay with-- I want to-- Okay. I don’t want to stop.” Theo sighed.

Boris kissed him again. Short and with a quiet hum. “Will be right back. Stay here, yes?”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Theo didn’t think he could remember how to walk.

“Good. Right back, right back.”

Boris disappeared into his connected bathroom and left Theo, just for a moment, to himself. Theo moved to the center of his bed, going between folding his hands and gripping the hem of his shirt. He stared directly ahead— barely wanting to look at his body, finally seeing what it was Boris had been seeing. There was no disguise anymore, not even for Theo to pretend.

Everything in him had a pulse, loud and aching. Theo so stupidly _ needed _ to know the rhythm of Boris’s in response. Maybe then, Theo would be able to drown out the very vicious alarm clattering between his ears. Maybe silence the slurring shouting— and shouted slurs— from ringing around in his head and circling down to his stomach. It was beginning to untangle the tightly wound knot Theo so desperately wanted Boris to pull loose.

“You are sitting like student.” Boris said as he returned. He walked quickly, his bare feet slapping quietly on the wood floor. “Do not think have to _ learn _ anything, Potter. Am just here with you. No lesson. Can be comfortable— lean back, will feel better.” Theo did as he was told. “Feel nice, yes? Not sit and be so stiff! Do not look like metal rods— _ shhhink _— in your spine, Potter. Are liquid again.” 

He tickled Theo’s sides with careful, jittery fingers. Against Theo’s own power, he let out a short, forceful scream. Boris stopped and reached for his own shirt on the floor.

“Potter. You are not comfortable. Can not do this.”

Boris was only a short fuse away from echoing the same thing in Theo’s head. He just had to change the tone.

“If I don’t now, I won’t ever.” Theo was close to talking himself out of his own indecision and into finally reuniting with his best friend. If he stopped, he’d lose forever. His head was pounding. The alarm was unceasing.

“But you are showing me uncomfortable. Will not let me touch you— that is big sign things are not good. Do not want touch? Never have said before: _ Boris do not touch _ ** _at all_ ** _ . _ Always tell me way you want to be. This is overall harsh _ no _, Potter. Difference is so clear to me. Have been in situation before where—” Boris stopped himself. He looked at his hands. “Need to hear you say this is what you want, Theo. Need to hear. Say it to me. Am listening but am not begging. Can say no, if no is what you want. Have to say something. Will not have sex if not clear.”

_ Oh fuck. He said it. He said— Fuck. Fuck Fuck— _

“Uh,”

_ Look at you. Going to grovel and ask another man for _ sex _ . You’re going to have to say out loud exactly what kind of person you are. There will be no deniability. _

_ “ _Boris, I—”

_ You’ll spit black for weeks just _ remembering _ that you’ve asked for this. You _ asked _ for this. You asked for it. You asked. You— _

“I want... what we used to do in Vegas.”

_ — were so scared then too. You never learned your lesson, huh? Just wait until she sees you, looks down and sees— _

Boris dropped his shirt and seemed to collapse inward as he sat on the edge of the bed. He shrank down, as if reducing to his more basic parts. “Were just children then, Potter.”

“I know. But what we used to do—” Theo was giving a short list of things that were already okay with just a few words and a pair of stuttering lips. It wasn’t much, barely things they remembered with steady vision, but it was the only thing Theo knew. Only thing he remembered feeling: completely smothered, but safe.

Boris still looked small. He wanted to be. “Oh, _ Theo _.”

He crawled to lay next to Theo, flopping down heavily. He grabbed Theo’s face as if he was about to jerk him around— scream in his face— but instead he held it firm, fingers smoothing the hair that stuck over the arms of Theo’s glasses. They were suspended in time, Boris not letting them sink back to where they used to be as teenagers. They were grown men now. Theo was sickened by the realization he hadn’t changed— hadn’t grown out of _ it _— but kept so comforted by the familiar, unchanged brown eyes staring into him.

“Will you be okay.” The words were choppy, Boris trying to make sure the sentence was unlost in his nonchalance with English syntax. “Need to— _ I _ need to know you— _ that _ you will be okay.”

“I— yeah.”

“No. Is not _ yeah _ . Is either yes or is no. Am okay uh… _ ack _ fuck what is phrase. With the horses. Taking the horses? Fuck.” Boris looked away although his hands still kept Theo centered on him.

“Do you mean _ reins _?”

“Is that with horses? The little, um, yes— think that is— not important! Am _ trying _ to say--”

Boris never finished. Theo cut him off with short snorts of laughter. He was paralyzed with disgust over the future of his own body, unable to even return the touch that was grounding him, but Theo was _ laughing _. An emptiness gave out and he felt the urge to cry, but instead all he had were short chokes of laughter and silent giggles. Boris looked like he wanted to be offended, unsure where the joke was coming from.

It took them a moment to compose themselves.

“I’m sorry. It’s just— This is so stupid. I’m _so_ ridiculous and this is so stupid. I’m sorry, Boris. I can’t _do_ this— I don’t know how. I forget.” Theo had pushed it so far down, it had fallen through his feet. It left an empty track, cutting through his chest and down his legs, making a cavernous space for the alarm to sound loud and clear.

“Is okay— Is not performance. Will not get _ grade _, Potter.” Boris said, sliding his hands to rest on Theo’s chest. “Is just me.”

That’s all it ever was for Theo: _ just _ Boris.

“I want you to--” Theo’s jaw clenched shut before he could finish, but he found the sentence just as helpful. “I want you.”

Boris smiled and Theo finally saw something new— his straight teeth— but it wasn’t that disconcerting. _ Some _ things had to change, didn’t they? And sometimes things _ were _ changed. It was normal; it was allowed between them.

“Okay, want shirt still, yes? Keep it on, will do. But, Potter, know pants cannot, right?” Boris was teasing now, eyebrow quirking and face getting dramatically stern. “Make very difficult for me. Will do anything for you, but am not magician.”

“I know.” Theo laughed, but had trouble swallowing the moment he tried to take a breath. “I--I’ll do it.”

Being exposed wasn’t necessarily about being seen, but about having no excuses anymore. With clothes, Theo could skew his body language and his own ticks, but without anything there was nothing to disguise how Theo had treated his body the past ten years. He wasn’t particularly in shape but was no longer starving, no longer guzzling beer and snorting every drug under the sun. He was average and awkward and probably _ ugly _— Boris had all the authority to run his eyes over every inch of Theo and see exactly who he was, even when he was alone. Especially when he was alone.

The waistline of his boxers snapped against his thighs as Theo’s fingers slipped off. He’d forgotten his arms couldn’t reach if he didn’t sit up. Boris hushed Theo’s sudden panic, surging upward to grab them. Boris hooked his fingers in each side and eased them past Theo’s knees and over his feet. He placed them down on the floor, as if making a note for Theo to find them in an emergency.

Theo laid back down and shut his eyes, unwilling to see himself again.

The weight on the bed shifted as Boris laid out between Theo’s legs. He spoke— full English sentences too— but Theo was too far removed to hear them. There was a cap that opened with a _ crack _ that Theo was only half familiar with. He kept his eyes closed and breath even, focused on not giving any more air to the voices clattering in his head--

In a surge, Theo writhed in Boris’s grip. His one arm was looped under Theo’s hips, holding him steady. His other, and only its hand, was slowly working Theo open. His arms didn’t flinch, didn’t try and grab Boris’s shoulders, try and push him away if only because everything was so scary. He was too terrified to even do that. Theo laid perfectly still, clenching his jaw so hard, he swore he felt his teeth shift.

“This is okay? Yes? Feel okay?” Boris kissed Theo’s thigh; one leg had been placed over Boris’s shoulder and the other was pushed outward.

Theo nodded.

“You tell me if not?”

Again, he nodded.

“But is good.”

Nodding.

“Are beautiful-- so handsome, Theo. Very very good to me.” Theo supposed Boris had never had sex with a _ completely _ silent person before, and realized that speaking was probably more part of his routine than anything he did with his body. “Let me help you-- So very good to me.”

Theo nodded. It wasn’t really a question, but he was trying to encourage the best he could. Theo was silent, but not upset.

“Feel good. Yes, do feel very good.” Boris continued.

Theo tried to unfocus his mind, stop trying to know everything that was happening to his body-- inside and out. He tried to not feel the pressure of Boris against him, but instead just his general warmth, his heat glowing over him. He tried to focus on the feelings of it, not the act itself-- like an expressionist painting.

God, the painting. _ His _ painting. Taped up and bound just behind his childhood bed. Theo felt that way now; a multitudes of meanings and signs and strokes and brightness, _ suffocating _ in his bindings-- ones of his own doing.

Theo was helpless behind the thin sheet of newspaper, folded so many times it couldn't possibly be ripped or ever lay flat again. He began shaking, unsure if he was nauseous or he was going to start unraveling, his hand moving if only to grab Boris's at his waist.

"Potter? Are trembling." Boris had pronounced the vowel incorrectly, the word nearly passing Theo by. He was barely tuned to the same frequency as Boris, although he was trying to stay grounded to him.

"I'm okay."

"Do not lie to me, Theo."

"I'm not. I won't."

"Want to stop?" Boris was still, hands still resting exactly where they had been, afraid of any sudden movements. "Can stop-- need you to relax. Do not want to frighten."

"No. No we're still okay… I’m okay."

It was painstakingly slow, but Theo knew that the next step was one he'd been preoccupied with since Vegas. It was the frightening flash that blinded Theo-- but only the eyes he always felt staring at the back of his head constantly. That flash was one he'd been missing since he was fifteen. One he pretended to feel with Kitsey-- and his other girlfriends. But Boris was the only one who knew how to shock Theo back to life, and he most likely didn't know it. Theo would never say it. He couldn't.

He hoped Boris would understand it anyway.

In his solitude of thought, as Boris moved around him and the bed, Theo readjusted, sitting up on his elbows. He watched Boris with embarrassing curiosity, afraid to be caught looking. He got up and stood at the dresser, his pale silhouette still visible in the lamplight. Theo had looked at Boris before, but now that he had the permission to not just see or observe Boris, but to _ want _ him, Theo suddenly didn’t want to trust his vision.

He kept praying he’d be blind as Boris came back to him.

The image was so familiar, it was the only way Theo trusted all of it in the first place: Boris over him, Theo’s body jittery but not at all shaking, their breath shared as they twitched around the idea of kissing rather than speaking.

Boris moved Theo’s legs for him— he was a lot taller than nearly ten years ago. Theo wasn’t sure how he was supposed to move or place his body to be at ease. Typically, when he was having sex, it was furious and blurred and he moved to simply get things over with. He didn’t take the time to be comfortable or feel connected. Unlike then: Boris carefully encouraging Theo’s legs to move and hook around him.

“Want to, yes?” Boris voice wasn’t broken— not _ yet _— but his sentences sounded to be made of more shards than usual.

Of all the twisting and heat simmering in Theo’s stomach, he’d never thought— somehow— for a moment that it could exist in Boris too.

“Uh huh.”

“Okay. Okay.” Boris nodded and readjusted him with a short inhale through his nose. He closed his eyes and seemed to settle back into himself against his nerves— was it nerves? Could Boris be _ nervous— _

A shift. An exhale. And a feeling like swallowing a stone, right into Theo’s stomach. Theo gasped and felt everything in his body still. There was only one thing happening.

Boris didn’t speak and that’s how Theo knew it was serious.

There was a thought in Theo’s mind, apart from all the furious screaming, that he’d start crying. He wasn’t in any sort of pain, but suddenly being back to where he was eight years ago felt like he’s punctured his lung— a rush of air that hallowed him out. How was it possible that _ this _ was the normalcy he’d been chasing? When he’d left for New York, he was actually running _ away _ from what he needed, where he’d learned to feel safe.

Lost time tangled tightly around his lungs just as Boris finally found his language again. Theo listened, taking slow, deep breaths as his answer.

“Theo… Theo…” Boris was trying to ask Theo to say something. The words quivered on his lips, but he never asked. “_ Tak dobrze… Czujesz się tak dobrze.” _

Theo didn’t know what Boris had said, but he understood. It was clear they were beyond using the same verbal language; there was a common one between their hands and bodies. There had always been one. Since the first strike of their skin, babel crumbled and Theo was allowed the small sin of understanding and being understood.

Theo wanted to speak, but he didn’t trust his tongue to relinquish the cold, sharp words that were cutting him— the only pain he actually could feel.

_ Look at you. _ ** _Look_ ** _ at yourself. God, what sacrilege— and you had the chance to say no. To stop yourself from admitting any of this. You did this to us— _ ** _God_ ** _ listen to yourself! Whining like an animal. Makes sense, doesn’t it— _

“Yes?” Boris braced his one elbow by Theo’s head. His free hand pushed hair back from Theo’s forehead. He adjusted Theo’s glasses without request, although smudged them horribly with his unsteady fingers. The greasy fingerprint covered the far side of Theo’s left lens; he was still able to see through most of it, able to see Boris.

He was crumbling as well. A blush— could’ve been a rash it was so red— started to creep up Boris’s chest, circling the base of his neck. Maybe a noose. Maybe Theo had put it there, condemning Boris too. The sharp line of Boris’s jaw cut through the dark as he clenched his teeth. As he exhaled, the air caught between his teeth and sounded like a hiss, like a rolling boil was screaming to be let out.

The language he spoke verbally was not one Theo could place. The tones and harsh consonants were lost to him— and were faded by short, choked moans. Theo could watch them reach up Boris’s throat, tensing and bobbing there as if he was afraid to free them. Theo was unsure if he could be the one to give permission. He was barely able to move his hands— to move away from gripping the bottom of his shirt— to even encourage _ speech _.

The word-- _ Boris’s name _ — almost burned him, though. Letting it sit on his tongue without relief was like placing his hand on the stove, trying to play chicken. It was too clear though, too clearly a desperate plea for the man in front of him. It was audible and repeatable and traceable and evidence that Theo was exactly what he’d been running from. It was an endless cycle; he’d never be able to get away from Boris, but _ god _, he never wanted to.

_ God, what would everyone think if they knew that you were _ just _ like those people— _

Theo tried to clear his throat, like he’d jam up the other voices. He started shaking his head, as if trying to unsettle the motion of the ringing alarm. It was a metronome; Theo just had to shake it still.

_ What a disgusting, filthy— _

_ No. Stop. _

_ You shouldn’t be enjoying this, you shouldn’t— _

_ Stop. _

_ That explosion should’ve-- _

_ Stop stop stop stopstopstopstop _\--

The world bottomed out underneath Theo. He gasped but it passed through him like a wind tunnel. This stomach tightened and he hunched his shoulders off the bed, trying to rise out of his own body— but also try and find Boris again.

“Potter! Am so sorry. Okay! Okay, we are done. You say _ no more _ .” Boris had mistaken Theo’s head shaking to be directed a him. Boris had pulled away so quickly, Theo barely had time to feel the absence. He was on fire, and so was the ceiling— he couldn’t see straight and was trying to uncurl all his nerves. “Am sorry, am really. Are okay, yes? Potter? _ Theo _?”

Theo gasped like had been held underwater, his hands pulling on the hem of his shirt and eyes closing since they refused to roll back down. Boris’s hand gently rested on his leg, steadying him as he began to tremble.

“Oh, okay.” Boris didn’t _ have _ the ability to coo, Theo thought, but if he did, he was doing so then. “Are okay.” It was an observation more than reassurance.

“F-Fuck.” Theo gasped again. His eyes snapped open, rolling down finally. Boris looked harrowed, confused and dazed. What had Theo done to him? “S-Sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry. I was— That wasn’t for you— I… I’m sorry.” In his wave of embarrassment, he covered his face without accounting for his glasses. He nearly broke them over the bridge of his nose.

“Is okay!” Boris assured Theo, guiding his legs off from around him. “Am glad you are okay. Thought—” He was winded, but he sounded hollow. It couldn’t have been fear, could it? “Thought was not good. But are okay.”

“Yeah.” Theo groaned, pulling his hands down. He was both refusing to process what had happened as well as _ only _ thinking about what he’d just done. His shirt was ruined and his glasses were covered in fingerprints. Everywhere he looked, he remembered. “I’m okay… Are you?”

There were obvious ways in which Boris wasn’t-- at least, in the most basic way. Theo just… wasn’t going to say it.

“Am fine.” His voice was caught in the back of his throat. He pinched his eyes closed and tilted his neck as if he was trying to crack it.

“Boris…” There was an unspoken static in the air. Theo could feel it against his skin and could hear it humming in Boris’s throat as he breathed. It was nearly undetectable, a bashful secret, but Theo wanted to find it-- hear it.

It was Boris asking for his own kind of permission: when the give and take gave out, and he was left with trembling empty hands, he was unsure if he was able to take just a _ little _for himself.

Theo spoke his name carefully, like discovering the definition of a new word, and Boris tried to turn away. He bit his bottom lip, as if he was refusing to acknowledge pain, and nodded along to the incantation: _ Boris… Hey, Boris… Look at me… I-It’s alright... B-Borya... _

Theo pushed his glasses up into his hair and eased himself up to meet Boris, turning his head. Boris was already out of breath, his mouth slack and messy as he tried to give himself over to Theo again. Theo wasn’t sure how to tell Boris he didn’t need anything more from him. He wasn’t asking for _ anything _.

With enough of a nudge, Theo tapped Boris’s elbow and tried to lead his hand. He would’ve done it himself if his head wasn’t still pounding, his tinnitus almost emerging from the cacophony. 

When Boris’s mouth dropped open, he fell away and rested on Theo’s shoulder. He spoke only in English:

“Feel so good, Theo.” He sighed, despite Theo not touching him. “Make me feel very good. Swell— Inside, like heart broken if cannot be close. So happy. So so happy, so so so— _ shit _.”

As Boris seized up, Theo scrambled to hold him. It was another nail in an already closed coffin, but Theo couldn’t refuse. His hands couldn’t remember the map of the terrain, but he found whatever grip he could and clung to Boris.

Time didn’t start moving until they did. The arms finally spinning as Boris’s reached to find Theo’s biceps, holding him for balance as he sat back up. He was pale and Theo squinted to see his expression.

Theo imagined he looked just as exhausted.

“I-I feel like we’re supposed to talk now.” Theo said after a moment.

“What is to say?” Boris lowered Theo’s glasses for him. His pleasant and languid blinking came into focus. He spoke as if trying to hum. “Close again, me and you. Happy inside, yes? Feel good?”

_ Don’t say it. _ ** _Don’t_ ** _ say it— _“Yes. Very much so.”

“Then nothing to say. Are allowed to _ be _.”

“That wasn’t… right. I fucked it up—”

“Potter, never listen to me! No one is judgment here. Is just you, is just _ me _.”

Maybe there wasn’t anything wrong with Theo admitting he was… what he was. Not when it was between the two of them, just Boris and just Theo. Just the dark folds of their shadows on the wall and warm outlines on the sheets. He could keep this secret close to his chest, heaving and shaking, for just a bit longer.

Time would lift some of the weight, wouldn’t it? Being this afraid of Boris, of what they did together, felt like _ rotting _in those immediate moments after. But then again, that’s what all things did when they were perfect, resting at the point of ripeness.

Theo never imagined Eve picking the apple from the tree, only someone handing it to her, but he finally got it. With the chance of ripeness so close, why would she let it hang on the tree, just watching it hang heavier and heavier— like his shoulders year after year of denying things in favor of a _ girlfriend _ and a _ fiancee _ and a _ wife _. In moments when the urge became too strong, the itching like a fire under the fingernails, Eve grabbed the apple. The skin broke and the fruit was devoured— but it was still perfect. Even the core.

It was a shame though. Theo knew it was all a lie. The story never changed: Eve sinned and the world suffered. That was Theo’s story too. He’d never break out, never be able to just learn the good from the bad without seeing himself among the rotten and rancid Bad.

“Potter, what is wrong?” Boris adjusted the shoulder hem of Theo’s shirt. He’d been still since Boris spoke. “Okay?”

Theo moved to rest his head on Boris’s shoulder, nose gently nudging his neck. “Yeah. But, can we just… sit for a while?”

“Can, yes.” Boris sighed, and collapsed against Theo. The equal pressure and weight kept either one from falling forward. “Sit as long as needed. Rest, Potter. Are okay.”

“Yeah. Guess I am, aren’t I?”

**Author's Note:**

> [Also posted on Tumblr on my side lit blog](https://weltonreject.tumblr.com/post/187472038600/selling-a-fake)


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